Fallen Crown
by Sweet Scarlett Angel
Summary: Vitoria Martell had one goal in her life: gain revenge for the murder of her aunt and cousins. That's why she sees the command for her to marry the northern heir as a blessing in disguise. What she never took into account was her own heart getting in the middle of things. And, when war breaks out, she must battle with herself and her loyalties in her order to survive. Robb/OC.
1. Prologue

**The altered prologue is here!**

* * *

No one ever thought much of her, in all honesty. In Dorne, she was a second child. For the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, she was a girl. But that gave Vitoria Martell a freedom her older sister and younger brother did not have. Arianne was the heiress to Sunspear, the future ruling Princess of Dorne. Quentyn was the eldest son, and to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms it was he who should inherit. As a second daughter, Vitoria was free.

She grew up happy in Dorne, in the Water Gardens with her sister and brothers and with her Uncle Oberyn's daughters.

From Obara, she learned to be fearless and to trust her instincts in the battlefield. From Nymeria, she learned to be cautious. With Tyene, she learned the importance of her appearance. And with Arianne, she learned how to use her body as a weapon.

By her thirteenth name day, she is already a woman grown. Her chest is full and her hips are wide with a tiny waist to compliment them. It's around that same time that Robert Baratheon becomes paranoid about Dorne. It's about that same time that Rober Baratheon begins plotting her marriage.

And one day, Vitoria hears her Uncle Oberyn screaming and her father raging and she knows something has happened. When she bursts into her father's study, they both turn to look at her with grim expressions in their faces.

"Come, my darling sun, we need to talk," her father's voice is soft but she still sees the tense lines on his forehead and knows nothing good will come out of this conversation.

Her Uncle Oberyn shows her the letter sent by Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. It states that in no uncertain terms, Vitoria of House Nymeros Martell is now betrothed to Robb of House Stark, the heir to WInterfell.

* * *

294 AC

The day after Arianne's eighteenth nameday, she leaves Dorne behind with her uncle Oberyn, his paramour Ellaria and a hundred guards. The goodbyes with her father and siblings were so painful she had to restrain herself from crying. She's a princess of Dorne and princesses were not weak!

How can Robert Baratheon be so cruel? She wonders…she is innocent in all of it. She'd been a mere babe when the Rebellion broke out, after all. She has done nothing to deserve her ire, even if she sometimes wished for his death, silently of course.

And he offered her to a Stark. A member of the same family who ruined hers. It was an insult, though she knows it could have been worse if the king had intended for her to marry his brother Renly, who has rumored to prefer the company of his same sex.

It's a long way from Dorne to the North. Almost two months, but she thinks this long period will help her adjust. She did not want to go by ship, even if it would have been faster. She has not wanted to set foot in one since she saw the back of her mother as she abandoned her father, herself and her siblings on a ship that would take her back to Norvos.

The more they go North, the colder it gets and the more she suffers for it. She should have expected it, she realizes as she grits her teeth. Winter is coming are the Stark words and there must have been a reason for those words.

When they are getting close to Winterfell, she insists they stop.

"It's getting dark and I don't want to reach Winterfell at night. We will continue tomorroww."

Her Uncle and Ellaria look at her knowingly. Ellaria shakes her head, before placing her arms around her in a carefree hug, whispering into her ear, "You must not be afraid. Remember who you are. A Martell of Dorne."

And even if she would join the Starks, she would remain a Martell, she thinks. She would remain Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

* * *

294 AC

Vitoria looked down at the small package in her hands; she was sure it was one of the oddest wedding gifts a bride would receive. Arianne had slipped it into her hands before she left Dorne, a sly smile on her face. She looked down at the strange, tiny package, it was as thick as three of her fingers and filled with the blood of an animal., with some compounds mixed in it by Tyene to make sure the blood remained fresh and did not clot.

She, of course, knew why her sister had given her such a gift. So she would crush it in the right moment and leave the proof that in the eyes of everyone in WInterfell she was a virgin.

Vitoria swallowed as she remembered the reason why she needed such a gift. But she pushed those thoughts away, centering herself in the present. Robb was little more than a boy, but some would say the same about her. Yet, she was glad to know her husband would not suspect a thing. He would not know of such inventions as the one she held in her hands. Still, she reasoned, he had no reason to back out of the marriage. They both had much too gain from their union and if anyone stood to lose anything, it was Vitoria.

A knock came at the door and she rose, quickly stuffing the package in the back of the bed, so she would be able to reach for it quickly.

* * *

She is only sixteen.

She is only sixteen and she has already given birth three times and lost one of her children. She is only sixteen and they have told her of her daughter's fever and how her poor child will not make it. She is only sixteen and people expect her to forget about her dead children and go back to her husband's bed to conceive a heir. She is only sixteen.

She is only sixteen and she already hates the world.

From the cradle, she can hear the child crying. She's her youngest, looking a mix between Stark and Martell, much to the disappointment of the northeners who'd been hoping for another Arya or Lyanna. It did not help that her twin looked more Tully than Stark.

The midwives hired by Catelyn had warned her not to expect much of the child, had warned her not to love it and its twin because they seemed so like to die. Not her. It. They had disregarded the name she had chosen, telling her to save them for another child, a child who would survive. Months later, her eldest had recovered and was thriving while a chill had caught ahold of her sister and had her hanging between life and death.

Tentatively she picks it up gingerly, only making the child's cries grow in volume.

She moves across the room, trying to calm it, feeling detached from it and the situation at hand. "If you look the least bit like your grandfather, you'll be very ugly," she chokes out as tears fall from her face. "And the worst thing in the world is to be an ugly woman - or that's what your grandmother says." Shamelessly, she throws the blame at her goodmother, knowing that in the end what she says is true. There is no love lost between the two women, despite their marriage to Stark men. They are too different; Catelyn is too self absorbed for Vitoria's liking while Catelyn abhors how tightly Vitoria clings to her dornish identity all while assimilating herself into the Northern culture far better than she's ever been able to do. The redheaded hates that Ned actually listens to Vitoria

They have bound her breasts so tight that they ache at times - highborn ladies north of the Red Mountains rarely suckle their own children. Defiantly, she unlaces the front of her nightgown.

"You must be hungry. It shouldn't be too hard. All I have to do is just pick you up and and you'll know what to do," she guides the baby to her breasts and after a few tries, feels the unfamiliar sensation of something sucking at her nipples and sighs in relief. "You're my little girl." She thinks of the names they had thought of - Henrik for a boy, Alia for a girl. "You're my H'alia," she tells the baby firmly. "You're going to live."

* * *

**As you might have noticed, I pushed back some dates in order to make them fit in with my story. I have a timeline with the information for this story which I'll update as I go along to make sure things make sense.**


	2. Chapter I

**I'm sticking closer to the show timeline, rather than the books. So the Rebellion was between 280 and 281.**

**aetheling: Old English term refering to the princes eligible for the kingship.**

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

298 AC

"My father sent me a raven. Jon Arryn is dead," his wife's words may be blunt and to the point, but her voice is soft as she tells him the news while she snuggles deeper into his upper body, their son sleeping contently on her bare chest after feeding, sucking his thumb. On another time, the simple thought of such a scene would have made him blush red. But after years of living with his free spirited dornish wife, this had become commonplace.

"I shall have to tell my father on the morrow," that is all he says before plants a kiss to his wife's hair and carefully takes their son from her chest and moves to lay him down at his crib in their rooms. But truly, he does not know what this means for Westeros.

Robb is no longer a boy who would easily believe his father to be a great hero and for kings to be all-knowing. His southern, politically trained wife had made sure of that. As such, he knew of Robert Baratheon's habits and temperament. He knew of his hatred for the Targaeryens and his distrust for the Martells and because of that, he worried about his wife and by extension, their children. The simple thought of Alia, Leila and Artos being in danger made him snarl and to regain himself, he allowed his son to wrap his hand around his finger, the motion soothing him.

He turned back to look at his wife, who seemed to be reading some letters, no doubt from her family and allowed a small smile to grace as his face as he once again looked down at his sleeping son.

Their marriage had certainly come a long way since they first met. His reaction to the loss of a son had helped in that, he knew. While Vitoria had been hesitant to trust him at first and he had been resentful that he had to leave the Karstarks to marry, he had been besotted with his dornish wife from the moment he laid eyes on her. Yet it had not been until Vitoria had miscarried their son that she opened up her heart to him. It had broken his heart to see her so broken and weak in the bed after undergoing such an experience. To know that she was scared of him had been an even bigger blow.

As their marriage improved, so did her standing in the North. At first, the lords and servants alike had been cold towards her, reluctant to trust her. But after she birthed the twins, they had started to warm up to her, seeing that she was now staying for good, two children made sure of that. And, the selflessness she displayed helped the Northern lords trust her more and more. The birth of Artos had been what secured her status as the wife to the future Warden of the North, Robb was aware of that, but he would have remained with her as his wife even if Artos had been born another daughter or if Vitoria had been declared barren after miscarrying.

He turned his head to look back at his wife, seeing that she was now dressed in her nightclothes and wrapped in the furs, sleeping soundly.

* * *

"Why are you getting pretty for the king?" her voice cuts through the room and makes her goodsister smear kohl across her cheek.

Honestly, she can't bring herself to feel guilty about it. She'd gone to her rooms to try and convince her to sneak in some archery practice in the morning, but instead she'd had to sit watching her get ready to meet the royal party. And she can't quite understand why Vitoria is putting on all the effort into her appearance. She's wearing a dress completely unlike the ones she's worn the past few years; it looks similar to the ones she wore when she was still adjusting to life in the Winterlands. It's neckline is cut low, exposing the curve of her breasts and her sternum and the dress clings to her chest like a second skin, only separating itself from her body when it reaches her waist. Her hair, at least, still looks like a northern woman's, being styled in a simple braid over her shoulder.

She sees Vitoria taking a few breaths, with her eyes closed and immediately regrets having spoken out of the blue. She knows how much time Vitoria spends in her appearance, even if she doesn't understand why. And she has to swallow loudly when her brother's wife turns her head to look at her, her narrowed eyes sharp enough to make her worry.

"I'm not 'getting pretty' for the king, sweetling."

She turns back around and starts wiping away the kohl with a cloth, before reapplying it. "I'm making sure I don't look tired, for starters. And, this is no less than I would do everyday if I were back in Sunspear. There is no need for this with how our life usually is, but the court in King's Landing expects more from us. That is why your brothers and Theon are getting their faces shaved and why I am rimming my eyes with kohl and my cheeks with red."

"I still don't get it," she huffs, sliding down onto the floor and stroking Nymeris's fur.

"All the world's a stage and we are merely players," Vitoria whispers, low enough that she barely hears it as she paints her lips with rouge.

And that makes her think. That makes her remember how Vitoria's role in Winterfell has evolved since she first arrived.

_She's a knife wrapped in silk, that wife of your, boy_, the Greatjon's words run through her mind and she thinks that she finally understands what he meant when he talked to Robb.

Vitoria is beautiful, anyone with eyes knows that. She may not be the beauty Cersei Lannister reportedly was in her youth, but she's beautiful nonetheless. Arya secretly thinks that no matter what everyone said about Sansa growing into her looks, Vitoria will always be more beautiful. But not only that, Vitoria is downright deadly as well. She had seen her reduce serving girls to tears with a few words.

But now, watching her goodsister get ready for the day, Arya places it all together.

The danger of Vitoria Martell lies hidden in her beauty.

* * *

Ned cast a quick glance over the courtyard as the gates were pulled open to allow entrance to the court.

Catelyn was at his side, no doubt smiling at the thought of hosting the court and to be able to be a southern lady as she so often wished she were. That was a constant source of discussion between them. In his eyes, Catelyn seemed to spend more time wishing she were a lady at court than actually acting as the Lady of Winterfell she was. And she did a poor job at it, refusing to deal with the servants and only dealing with the steward and refusing to convert to their religion. He had refused to build her a sept and forced her into a marriage in the godswood after the Greyjoy Rebellion, having been forced to acknowledge his Ealdormen's unrest with his marriage. Their already frail relationship had failed to completely recover.

On his other side was Robb, his eldest son, with his hand on his daughter's shoulder in front of him. Ned felt a surge of pride as he took in Robb's straight back and his proud visage. His son would be a better Lord of Winterfell than Ned would ever manage to be. Unlike him, he had been raised to be so. He could only be an aetheling so far, but he doubted any of his Ealdormen would dare support one his brothers or his own son against him. If he had to go south, he would make sure to invest him and Vitoria with the honors necessary to secure their lordship while he was away. His father had not done what was needed to secure his possible rule and he had found himself wholly unprepared for the task. He would avoid the same happening to his son.

Vitoria had found her place at the next to his eldest, Artos resting on her hip and sucking on his thumb, his disinterest on the day's proceedings clear. He could see her blank expression, in the way he remembered it had been when she'd just arrived at Winterfell, before she and his son had fallen for one another. She had truly outdone herself in helping Catelyn to ready the castle for their guests, though he suspected it was more to spite the queen by giving her no cause for complaint than out of a desire for the royal family to be comfortable. Nevertheless, she looked serene as they awaited the royal party's arrival.

Sansa was on Vitoria's far side, dressed in a blue dress that was certainly a gift from Vitoria if the lacing at the back was anything to go by. He was thankful that at least it seemed to blend the Northern and the dornish styles, leaning more to towards the northern ones. She was nearly bouncing from excitement at the coming court. She loved her songs and stories, in spite of Vitoria's attempts to 'stop the Starks from being summer children'.

Arya had finally reached her place on Sansa's other side, dressed similarly to her goodsister with a dress and a grey shawl around her shoulders, and seeming as if she had just left the training yard if her disheveled hair was anything to go by. Ned wondered what Vitoria had threatened his youngest daughter with to make her comply and wear a dress. Arya would much prefer to spend her entire life sparring than ever act as a lady. It simply wasn't in her nature. But she had begun trying at Vitoria's insistence. Arya looked up to her goodsister and Ned was glad that Vitoria was making the best out of it, pressuring his youngest daughter into wearing dresses every now and then and into attending her lessons with Septa Mordane, despite her own dislike of the woman.

Bran was standing next to Arya, looking interested in something other than his books for once. Ned could barely see a dagger hidden on his trousers and he thought he saw Arya try to reach for it before Bran whispered something back, that made her withdraw her hand. He also thought he saw the hilt of a dagger hidden in Sansa's belt, to his great surprise — no doubt his goddaughter had something to do with it, she had proposed to herself that her goodfamily would be able to defend itself even if their guards failed.

Ned had not really helped in Vitoria's quest to educate his daughters on reality, he could admit. He thought it better to shield them from things a young lady ought not to know of. Catelyn agreed with him on that, but he thought that it was mainly her southern upbringing and her desire to see his daughters as ladies fit for the court. But, he still worried that giving in to Vitoria's pleas to allow them to learn to use a weapon other than a dagger had been a mistake, though it was reassuring to know that none of his daughters would be as easily stolen as his sister had been.

Rickon, Alia and Leila were both doing to their best to appear mature, but their fidgeting gave away their restlessness. At Vitoria's insistence, their direwolves were next to their masters, most of them still unnamed. His granddaughters made quite the sight, with Grey Wind and Dawn at their sides and Shadow laying down protectively in front of them.

Ned grinned, more amused than anything else. He was fiercely proud of all of his children and grandchildren. It pained him that he'd had to have Jon put in the second line, and Vitoria had made several cutting remarks about the south's attitude towards illegitimate children. But on the bright side, Jon was tucked out of sight of any Lannisters.

The last thing his family needed was somebody laying eyes on Jon and starting to make any connections between his birth and his sister's death. That was his largest concern about Robert's visit. Thank the Gods, Jon was a Stark through-and-through.

Gods willing, nobody ever would pick up on his heritage. Ned fully intended to take the secret of Jon's birth to his grave, no matter how much hurt it caused him not to know of her mother, or the pain that would flash through Catelyn's eyes when he refused to speak of Jon's mother. He could not tell her the truth about Jon, not when their marriage was so fragile and he often saw her as power hungry, like most southrons were.

He forced his thoughts away as the procession began to pour through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel. He judged it to be about three hundred strong, made up of Robert's bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders and more. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the faint and refreshing breeze, emblazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

The sight of Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy made Vitoria's expression tighten, though she retained her neutrality with admirable willpower. He knew perfectly well what she thought of the pair. Selmy had sworn his sword to Robert just after the Trident after Rhaegar had fallen, but his wife and children, her aunt and cousins, had all still lived. In Vitoria's eyes, the man should have died instead of betraying his lieges by bending the knee. Her loathing for Jaime, the only Kingsguard in the capital who had been nowhere to be seen whilst his father's men killed her aunt Elia and her children, was almost frightening in its intensity at times.

But Ned could not give any comfort to his gooddaughter. He was too stunned by the sight of the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two unfamiliar knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard. He seemed almost a stranger to Ned . . . until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug that knocked the breath out of him. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that face of yours." Robert looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. "You've gotten fat. I can barely recognize you, you look so different."

Robert was one to talk. Eighteen years past, when they had set out from the Vale to win a war together, the Demon of the Trident had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over most men, and when he donned his armour and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could barely lift on his best days, not at all on the rest of them. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like incense.

Now it was the scent of perfume that clung to him, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion, when they had last fought side-by-side, that time to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Robert had looked similar enough to their youth at the time, if a bit tired and worn by the weight of his crown and the memories of the war and what had caused it.

But things had changed a great deal in the past few years it seemed. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy's fallen stronghold at Pyke, where Robert had accepted the rebels' surrender and Ned had taken the last surviving Greyjoy male as both hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone.

Ned himself had gained a few subtle wrinkles and strands of grey hair as well as some pounds, but otherwise he looked similar to when he'd been a young warrior and the new Lord of Winterfell. He definitely hadn't gotten fat either, even if his waistline had expanded.

He smirked at his old friend, hiding how troubled he felt by Robert's appearance.

"Me?" he said in a jesting tone, ignoring people's blatant disapproval at his light-hearted attitude towards his king. Robert was Robert, even with a crown on his head and some extra pounds on his belly. Ned could not bring himself to treat him otherwise, as if they had not been raised side-by-side as brothers. "I have grown fat? Look at the kettle calling the pot black, Your Grace." He spoke the title in a mocking tone as he pointedly looked at Robert's girth and his old friend let out a roar of laughter, dragging Ned into a tight embrace.

By then the others were dismounting as well, and servants were coming forward for their mounts. Queen Cersei entered on foot with her younger two children, who were her spiting image just like the Crown Prince. Ned couldn't see a speck of Robert in them, but he supposed he had yet to be properly introduced to the children. Perhaps when he was closer he would see more of a resemblance, and of course he had yet to interact with them at all, so he could say nothing of their characters.

The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too big for the yard, especially when it was full of people. Vitoria eyed it with a blank expression that Ned recognized as contempt. She had explained to them that her father despised such displays of wealth, deeming them unnecessary and that she agreed with him. After all, why waste the gold on a carriage you'd use once when you could use it to feed the small folk? Even Catelyn and Sansa had shut their mouths after she used that reasoning.

Ned knelt to kiss the queen's ring in greeting, before rising, taking a deep breath and praying this went well. Then, he turned his body to the side, to introduce his family to the royals, starting with his loyalist goddaughter.

"My gooddaughter, Princess Vitoria Stark of House Martell," he introduced.

She curtsied lowly, expression devoid of emotion and eyes downcast and meek. There was no obvious sign of the hatred she felt towards the couple, something that relieved Ned. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to become suspicious of Vitoria's allegiance to the Crown.

"Your Graces," she murmured, as everyone watched tensely. "You honour us with your presence. I pray that you enjoy your stay. Should I be able to do anything to ensure your comfort, I beseech you to inform me immediately of it."

Queen Cersei sneered at her, causing Robb's jaw to clench as his wife returned to her place, while Robert studied her coolly, an emotion in his eyes he hoped he was mistaken about.

"You look very much like your aunt, Princess Vitoria," he commented.

"So I have been told," she murmured. "I am given to understand that is a frequent consequence of two females having such a close relationship, Your Grace," Vitoria remarked bluntly response, face still expressionless. Ned knew her well enough to pick up on the subtle fury and loathing in her eyes, however, and he was relieved that nobody else seemed to spy it, and that she was so good at suppressing her anger. For one second he thought she'd become riled up at the mention of her aunt, who he could admit she did resemble greatly, but he was glad she kept her emotions under control.

Seemingly satisfied, Robert nodded and turned to Ned, and they had their respective children — and in Ned's case, grandchildren — brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides. Bran studied the royal family carefully and thoughtfully. Arya looked the weapons the guards held with carefully concealed lust in her eyes. Sansa gazed at them with blatant awe whilst Rickon, Leila and Alia, all less than five namedays old, tried not to fidget and Artos utterly ignored the royals in favour of messing with his mother's braid. Robb excused his one-year-old's unintentional rudeness, Robert waving him off indifferently, though the queen's lips were pursed so tightly it seemed as if they had disappeared.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "The boy's barely more than a babe, how's he supposed to know any better? Anyway, let's get on with the rest, shall we?"

He was slightly surprised by Robert's eldest three trueborn children. As he had noted already, they were all mirror images of their mother. But they were very different in personality from their father also.

Crown Prince Joffrey put Ned off immediately, though he could not say why. The boy was clearly arrogant, but Ned did not think that was what bothered him. He and Robert had both been arrogant youths, after all. But they had not had the malicious, entitled edge to them that Joffrey seemed to have. Though it was too early to properly judge the boy, and he was Robert's eldest son, so Ned tried to put his unease aside as he greeted the other children. Prince Tommen was a shy, plump boy half-hidden in his mother's skirts, whilst Princess Myrcella was quite sweet. He would never have guessed that they were Baratheons at all, let alone Robert's children, were it not for the fact that he knew it was so already.

No sooner had the formalities of greeting been completed than Robert turned to Ned and said, "Take me down to your crypt, Ned. I would pay my respects."

He nodded, knowing that no other words were needed. The queen began to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first, she pointed out. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she fell silent. Vitoria nodded softly to Catelyn before both went to the queen, offering to show her to the rooms set aside for them with Artos still on his mother's hip, as Robb led the guards to show them around Winterfell and Sansa took over her siblings and niece, herding them back into their rooms in the keep.

* * *

Vitoria and Robb left the feast as soon as the plates had been cleared, with the primary intention to retire for the night, but after placing their children down to sleep and getting distracted in an empty hallway, they had decided to return to the celebrations.

Theon shot them a lewd smirk when they entered before raising his cup as if to toast when he saw them entering the hall again, understanding what they had been doing a few minutes before. The lack of adornments in her hair and Robb's top shirt buttons being undone made sure that those who knew them best would quickly catch on. To others, it would not be so easily noticeable. But, Vitoria's hair was free of jewelry, her cheeks were flushed and her already low neckline was hanging lower than it used to. To those who knew her it was quite obvious what had been happening.

Quickly, they wormed their way into the celebrations and within a short time, she was dancing the night away, doing her best to avoid her goodparents to avoid the conversation sure to come with Catelyn. The older woman had never liked her and she would jump at the chance to point out something she had done wrong, disregarding the fact that she wanted to make their guests from the South comfortable and she had not been South in years, unlike Vitoria.

She was laughing when she left Torrehn Karstark's arms, her arms above her head as the dance demanded, laughing and smiling as she expected to turn into Theon's hold, but instead found herself with Prince Joffrey's hands too tight and too low on her waist as he pressed her body closer to him than the dance needed and closer than it was considered proper.

"You are a rarity, to bloom this far from court," he said, catching her hand and stepping smoothly into the next set.

She supposed some would call him handsome, with his delicate hair and green eyes. But there was something sharp in his face that did not set her at ease. He looked too much like his mother, for her to ever be comfortable with him. "How is it that you were never sent to court? My mother would have welcomed you in her household."

Looking at the Queen, Vitoria was not so sure of that - the Queen had made it quite plain that she found everything about the North objectionable, and Vitoria might have been born in Dorne, but she was of the North now. And even so, it wasn't as if it would have changed things if she'd remained solely dornish. It was quite clear most of the other kingdoms saw dornishwomen as harlots and men as treasonous. But, she had adapted to the circumstances and was now as much a direwolf of Winterfell as she was a sun of Sunspear. The Queen would not welcome her in her household, that was quite clear.

Yet, it was rude to disagree with a Prince on such matters, though, so rather than argue, she smiled.

"I was ordered to wed north, your highness," she said, allowing a small smile . "I am to be the Lady of Winterfell-"

"I know that," the Prince said, rolling his eyes and pouting. "But just because you are wed to another man does not mean that you could not come to court. There have been many women who spent time at court without their husbands or betrotheds, over the years."

Her eyes narrowed as she understood what he was saying. She might not be as strait-laced as some ladies of the south, really, being from Dorne did not allow for that, but if she were to betray Robb she would do so with a man who at least interested her. The Prince was little more than a child, even if he was older than Sansa by a year.

"Just think of all the women Aegon the Unworthy kept about his court," Prince Joffrey continued, leering and staring directly down her gown. "You are at least pretty enough for that, even if we would never be able to be wed."

"I would rather not come to court at all, if it bears resemblance to that of Aegon the Fourth," Vitoria said carefully. "Tales are told of how unsafe and unwholesome a place that was for women of all births, and I will remain here instead, where there are those who I might trust to protect my honor."

The Prince laughed aloud at that, tipping back his hair in a tumble of bright hair and cruel eyes.

"Everyone knows you Northern girls are half-wild," he said, tugging her a little closer. "And tales are told of the women of Dorne, after all," his eyes once again found themselves in her bosom, "surely you would not object to being shown such favor?"

"She might object very much," Theon said, his voice stern as he slipped his arm between Vitoria and the Prince and pushed her carefully behind himself. "My princess is in need of some rest, your highness - forgive us, but we will leave the dance for a time. Please, do enjoy yourself."

Vitoria let Theon guide her away to where Bran was sitting with Arya, locked in a fierce discussion over something that was doubtless unimportant, and it was not until they stopped arguing that Vitoria noticed her hands were shaking.

* * *

**Originally, the scene between Vitoria and Arya was in Vitoria's POV and it was shorter. But when I changed it to Arya's view, it more than doubled in size. **


	3. Chapter II

**Thank for everyone who favorited and followed this story. As a bonus, tell me the top three OCs whose face claims you want to see me reveal and I'll start doing so. **

**OCs:**

**H'alia (Alia) & Leilani (Leila) Stark: Vitoria's & Robb's daughters**

**Artos Stark: Vitoria's and Robb's son**

**Lexa Dayne, Luna Rivers & Lyrena "Rena" Stone: Vitoria's friends & ladies**

**Shadow & Dawn: the direwolves for Vitoria and Robb's children**

**Allard, Ka, Draco, Andrei, Ryker & Emmett: Vitoria's personal guards**

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

The rooms Vitoria and Robb shared in Winterfell were of the warmest rooms the keep had to offer inside the family quarters. They were not the warmest rooms overall, those were reserved for Lady Catelyn (rooms even Vitoria acknowledged were warm, being directly on top of hot springs), yet they were warmer than other rooms and Vitoria was glad that Lord Stark had seen fit to organize those to be their rooms when they married. The rooms were warm, but not enough to remind Vitoria of Sunspear. Yet, they served their purpose in protecting her from the unforgiving cold.

The cold of the North had often been the cause of illness for her, due to her body struggling to cope with the drastic change in temperature. The maester even believed that was the reason she struggled so much with her second pregnancy before losing the babe. It was the same for her loyal ladies from the Sandship and the Martell guards who had all come north with her. But though she had offered to help them return to the familiar and comforting warmth of their homeland, all of them were far too devoted to her family to leave her alone in what they had all considered to be enemy territory, those who had left had done so because they had been recalled home by Doran or their families - with Doran's permission, of course. And they had left making their displeasure known, willing to stay with her in the cold even though it was damaging their health. Lexa was the only one of her ladies that remained, even if she now had Luna and Rena who slowly she came to trust, despite Lady Stark's despise of the three of them since they were all bastards, never mind the fact that Luna was her niece and that Lexa had been legitimized.

After they finished, Robb rolled off of her and left the bed, typical of him. He found their chambers too warm, and since she usually preferred to hold him close after they lay together, he got up to open the windows before laying back down with her. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching silently as he wandered over to the closed window and opened it, allowing the cool air of the night entrance and she shivered despite herself at the cold wind that filled the room. Despite the strides she had made in embracing her husband's homeland, she did not think she would ever be fully comfortable in the cold.

He stayed facing away from her, silent and obviously troubled. Whatever was bothering him, it had upset him enough that he was past the point of pacing, which was never good. Since they had married, she had taken it upon herself to teach him of the southern politics so he would be ready if the day ever came when they had to go to King's Landing or if they ever went the court her father held at Sunspear. She had also learned his mannerisms, never managing to erase his tells from when he lied, but she was content in knowing it was only she who knew that his left hand twitched when he did so. But, in her experience nothing good came out of him looking into the horizon with almost glazed eyes as he was doing now.

Vitoria frowned when she saw him pass a hand through his hair, a sign of his distress. She sighed and rose from the bed as well, ignoring the ache left in her thighs after the way he had frantically and repeatedly taken her. Her wrists ached from his tight grip, and her scalp tingled from when he'd tugged at her hair. Another sign of his distress. Once, she would have resented him for it. But now, she simply welcomed it as a sign of his trust, knowing she did the same if she needed it and that he did not begrudge for it. He was only ever so harsh when he was using her body to distract himself from whatever was haunting him. But considering the circumstances of their current situation, she could not fault him for acting so.

Vitoria downed the cup of moon tea on their nightside table before walking over to her husband. She was certain that if she did not, one of these days her husband's seed would quicken within her again. He'd certainly been doing his best to put another babe in her these past few months. She was but nine and ten, and despite her best efforts to predict her moons' blood, she never knew when it would come which made it all the more harder for her to control when she would conceive. Still, she had managed to remember the tells of her body readying itself for another pregnancy and she was experiencing them right now, meaning she was in the right state for his seed to quicken within her. But as much as she might want to have another child, another baby close in age to Artos, knowing the twins and Rickon would likely grow up close and that left Artos without a default playmate, she couldn't.

The maesters had all but forbidden her from falling pregnant until she had completely healed from the rather traumatic entry of her son into the world. Maester Luwin had wanted them to be celibate, but Maester Vaith, who had worked in Sunspear and been sent North with her, had convinced him against it. She knew that with her son still at her breast it would be harder for her to fall with child, but it had not stopped her from becoming pregnant with the stillborn they'd named Torrhen. As much as she might want to deny it, she knew her body had still not completely recovered from three pregnancies and four births with less than two full years between them all, so for the moment she'd continue drinking moon tea.

She came to his side shivering and he pulled her against his muscled chest, giving her a brief kiss atop her tangled hair before wrapping his arms around her.

"He asked your father to be his Hand, then," she stated, not needing an answer, though he gave one anyway.

"Aye, as we had expected."

"Will he accept?" she kept her voice as even as she could, but she could feel her heart beating against her ribcage wildly, the idea of being Lady of Winterfell in truth rather than just in name a thought too attractive to ignore; even with her personal feelings about a man as honorable as Ned going to such a cursed place.

Robb hesitated as she leaned her head against his chest. "I don't know," he admitted, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Vitoria was unhappy with his answer. She'd much prefer him to state immediately that his father had no intention of going to a place filled with murderous lions and treachery, but she supposed that it was better than a 'yes'. But once Ned had decided something, almost nothing could make him change his mind. Certainly not the opinions of his Southern gooddaughter, not even if she was the mother to his heir's heir and acting Lady of Winterfell considering the less than stellar job Catelyn had been doing.

"Why not?" she asked evenly, trying not to react to his hand's movements across her lower back.

He sighed heavily, looking burdened beyond his eight and ten years. She kissed his chest, leaning against him and tilting her head back to look at him. His eyes were distant and his brows furrowed.

"He is my father's oldest friend, he needs help," Robb said. "He feels that he must to give it to him."

"Your father's duty to the North and to his family outweighs any debts to a friend," Vitoria pointed out. "If he is truly his friend, then surely he will understand."

In truth, she did not think he owed Robert anything at all. If anything, given the key part the North's army had played in the Rebellion, then Robert owed Ned, for being such an integral part of him gaining the Iron Throne. Robb would not share her opinion, however, so she said nothing of it.

"That is not all," Robb went on reluctantly. "The King has suggested betrothals between our houses, starting with Sansa and the crown prince."

Vitoria tensed as she took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm herself down before speaking. Sansa truly was a sweet child, even if she was rather spoilt. In all honesty, Sansa reminded her of who she might have been had she been born to another Great House, one outside of Dorne. But Sansa would not survive in the capital, at least not without Vitoria first teaching her how to do so. And, the simple thought of a marriage between her and Joffrey made her skin crawl. From the few interactions, she'd had with the prince she knew he was bad news. And, from the way she had felt his eyes on her through the dance floor and the whole feast that evening, she knew he would not be the husband Sansa wanted.

"Vi, that is not all. He wishes to betroth Lia and his son, Tommen."

Vitoria went rigid and pulled away from him, feeling her expression turn colder than the ice-covered landscape her husband's family had ruled for so long. "Over my dead body," she hissed in utter rage, clenching her fists so tightly she felt blood well up from the indents she made. Her daughter, wed to the grandson of the man who'd had her aunt Elia and her children murdered? The son of the bloodhound who had waded through her cousins' blood in order to steal her aunt's crown? She would prefer her daughter to be dead than marry a relative of the Lannisters.

Robb hastily grabbed hold of her arms lightly, tugging her to him again and ignoring her attempts to pull away and demand that he tell her that he had refused.

"I have not agreed yet, Vi, I promise," he insisted earnestly. "But these are high honours. How can we refuse all of them without offending the king?"

"I thought he was your father's dearest friend," she scoffed back. "How much faith do you think your father has in his love for him, if he is reluctant to tempt his wrath?"

Vitoria took a deep breath, shivering at the cold. She looked back at her husband, "I'll go to King's Landing with your father and siblings. Once they are settled and I feel comfortable leaving Sansa at Joffrey's clutches, I'll come back and we'll secure a betrothal for our daughters, so none of them can marry the prince."

Robb frowned, disliking the thought of his sister married to the cruel Crown Prince. "The King offered for Tommen to be fostered here, so he and Lia will not be strangers when they marry."

She turned her head away from him, "No. Let him be fostered here if you want, but my daughters will not be wed to the son and grandson of butchers. We can say that it would look uncouth for both princes to be promised to the North or something of the sort, but no daughter of mine will wed a Baratheon, much less one such as he with his Lannister blood. His grandfather is responsible for my aunt's death."

"Fair enough," he acceded.

* * *

_She frowned as she looked at the parchment stretched out on the wall, the figures she was painting not clear still._

_Vitoria dipped the tip of her brush into the small jar, coating it with scarlet paint. She let out a deep breath and allowed her hand to work freely over the canvas, staining it with red._

_Painting came naturally to her, like it did to her Lady Grandmother before her. Her mind released the images that haunted her dreams this way, her nimble fingers bringing them to life if she had the material at her disposal._

_Vitoria switched to a deeper red and started painting the details on the male's chest, then his companion's hair. She was about to paint her eyes when a pair strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist._

_"Come back to bed," he murmured against the fabric of her nightgown, his arm tugging at her sleeve._

_"Wait a bit," she snapped back, trailing her brush over the canvas again before gasping in shock as she truly looked at the image she had painted._

* * *

Arya glared down at her needlework. It was crooked, again. She looked to Vitoria and saw she had abandoned her own needlework, instead focusing on braiding her daughter's hair while she looked around the room, her eyes lingering on Sansa who was sitting next to her. Of course, Sansa's needlework was perfect. Sansa was much better at being a lady than her. She tried to tune out her sister's giggles, smiling when Vitoria slipped her a sweet and taking it quietly, dividing it to give a part of it to Leila who was sitting at her feet, playing with her dolls.

"Vi?" she whispered, "can you help me? Like we did before?" Vitoria looked up from Alia's dark hair and quickly swapped their needlework when she saw Septa Mordane wasn't watching them, rather she was chatting with Princess Myrcella's septa.

"That's not your work, Vitoria," Sansa observed the piece of material in Vitoria's hand. "Did you switch with Arya? You know that Septa Mordane won't be happy."

"Then she won't find out unless you tell her," Vitoria said threateningly. "Which you won't. Because we're your sisters."

Sansa pursed her lips together in a thin line that made her look like her mother. The resemblance between Sansa and Catelyn was uncanny, even though Sansa had some purely Stark features like her pale skin. At least Catelyn had not succeeded in poisoning her children against Vitoria, even three year old Rickon ran into her arms much to his mother's displeasure. There was no love lost between the two women, that was for sure.

When Septa Mordane was finished talking with the other septa, she came over to the girls and inspected their work. Sansa's was met with praise, as always, and Jeyne Poole was given a nod, which she seemed to take offence from. She cooed over Arya's needlework, pleased that it finally improved and while she pressed her lips thinly when she saw Vitoria's, she did not say anything, having learned not to cross her.

"Princess, what is the capital like?" Sansa suddenly spoke, looking at the Princess Myrcella who was sitting next to her cousins at the other side of the room.

Princess Myrcella jolted, her emerald eyes wide. "Oh," she stammered. "I, I suppose that it is King's Landing. I have never really been anywhere else, except to visit to my grandfather at Casterly Rock. And here of course. I do not know what to say about it. Mother does not like us to leave the Red Keep, so I have never actually spent much time in the city."

Sansa and Jeyne Poole frowned in disappointment at that.

"What about Prince Joffrey?" Jeyne inquired, leaning forward with wide eyes. "He is so handsome! What is he like?"

Princess Myrcella shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Well, he is handsome enough I suppose," she conceded uncertainly. "He is my brother of course. I do not notice such things about him."

"He likes Sansa," Kat Cassel declared proudly, as if she had somehow arranged the whole thing. "He told her that she was very beautiful."

"Imagine what would happen if he married her," Jeyne said dreamily, as she hugged herself. "Then Sansa would be Queen of all the realm."

"He might," Sansa pointed out with sparkling blue eyes. "Father is the king's dearest friend. A betrothal between our houses would be a likely thing."

Arya shifted in discomfort. She thought that if a bethrothal were to happen, it was likely to be between Tommen and one of her nieces, likely Alia as she was the younger one and she remembered Robb and Vitoria saying their eldest daughter would marry to a northern heir. Joffrey seemed simply foul, she did not think her father would agree with Sansa marrying him. Tommen so far had been a sweet boy and the age difference was not so much for it to be unreasonable for him to marry Alia or Leila. She had no doubt that King Robert was aware of his son's temperament and that even if he wanted to join their houses, he would not make his dear friend's daughter suffer such a fate.

Even so, she did not want their families mixing with one another, not after what Vitoria had told her when she'd stormed into her rooms a moon past, demanding to know about the Rebellion after overhearing a discussion between her parents. Vitoria had not told her the glossy version of things, despite her own pain at retelling the story. Her aunt, the Princess Elia and her cousins, the little Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon had all died at he Sack, she had known that. But she had not known that the Princess Elia had been raped with the blood of her son smeared across her body or that the little Princess had been stabbed till her body was unrecognizable. And the King had stood over the bodies of Vitoria's cousins, laughing as he called them dragonspawn.

Sansa knew none of this, however, and she was glowing brightly at the prospect of wedding the Crown Prince.

Arya was eager to change the subject (especially seeing how Vitoria's hands knuckles were whitening) and the mention of the prince had given her an idea. "Well, Father and Mother will be the ones to decide on our marriages, not anybody else," she stated abruptly. "But look at the time! Septa Mordane, might we please go and watch the boys train? Please."

The Septa did not look pleased by the idea, even if she had not stopped the gossip despite how umcomfortable it was clearly making Vitoria, but her hands became tied when Vitoria spoke up.

"That's a great idea, Arya. Come on girls, let's go watch them train."

Septa Mordane led them out of the palace to the sparring yard. They arrived to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the men and boys in the yard and Arya was unsurpsied to see that her goodsister had disappeared in the time it took them to reach the yard. Perhaps she had gone to collect herself for a few moments. She quickly grabbed the hands of her nieces, not wanting them to wander off.

To the disappointment of them all, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to begin with, seemed more like a ball than a boy. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Rodrick Cassel, the master-of-arms for Winterfell. A dozen spectators, men and boys, were calling out encouragement, Robb's voice the loudest among them. She spotted him standing in with Theon Greyjoy, Theon's black doublet emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House with a look of wry contempt on his face. From the way that both of the combatants were staggering, Arya judged that they had been at it awhile.

"Where's Prince Joffrey?" Sansa wondered, sounding disappointed. Arya looked around again, then pointed at the heir to the Iron Throne when she spotted him in the back, sheltered from the sun by a high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; his guards, she assumed.

"There he is," she told her sister, who looked eagerly at the boy. Arya suppressed an eyeroll. Her sister could be so foolish sometimes. Father would be irritated that she was letting the title and looks of the prince affect her opinion of him. How many times had he warned them that the most beautiful and powerful of people could often be the cruellest? She was suddenly glad that Vitoria had disappeared, she would certainly scold Sansa for saying such things.

Their attention was drawn back to the courtyard by a shout. When they looked away from the Crown Prince, it was to see that Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran was standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet. The men began to laugh.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrick called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. "Well fought." He looked around. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"

Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly."

Joffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Ser Rodrick's summons. His hair shone like spun gold. He looked bored. "This is a game for children, Cassel. And Robb may be a child," Joffrey said haughtily. "But I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

"You got more swats than you gave, Joffrey," Robb retorted. "Are you afraid?"

Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he sneered. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Arya glanced at the other girls. Sansa was frowning at the prince, and the other girls looked disappointed. The princess looked a mixture of resigned and familiar with her older brother's attitude. Her sister and her friends were clearly disappointed with the way Prince Joffrey acted away from the girls he desired to impress. Arya herself thought the boy to be all bark and no bite. She'd seen his hands the night before and they were as smooth as a baby's skin, with no evidence of callouses even beginning to form. Even Bran had more callouses than the prince did. Joffrey clearly didn't practice weaponry often, if at all. A shame that the son of the Demon of the Trident was so weak.

Ser Rodrik ran a thoughtfully over his chin. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.

"Live steel."

"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!"

The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

Arya did not see what was the point in denying them steel when Robb regularly trained with true swords with Vitoria, Theon and Jon. Maybe it was for the Prince's benefit, she supposed; he didn't look as if he could fight with a real sword.

Joffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Arya, a tall knight with black hair and ugly burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?"

"I am training warriors," Ser Rodrik replied pointedly. "They will have steel when they are ready." So it _was_ for Joffrey's benefit, since Robb had been training with steel since before the twins were born.

The burned man looked at Robb. "How old are you, boy?"

"Eighteen," Robb responded.

"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword."

Arya could see her older brother bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned to Ser Rodrick "Let me do it. I can beat him."

"Give them steel," Vitoria's voice cut across Rodrick before he could respond. They all turned to see her stride into the yard, holding Artos close to her chest.

"Princess, I do not believe-" the Master-at-Arms began to say, only for her to make him fall silent with an upraised hand.

"My husband, the _aetheling_, has proven himself already and Prince Joffrey is the heir to a great warrior," Arya was amazed at how well her goodsister was at keeping her disdain and loathing from her tone and face. "Let them fight with steel," the future Lady of Winterfell ordered, and the matter was settled. Theon helped Robb ready himself, while a pair of Lannister men aided the prince in preparing.

"Begin!" Ser Rodrik cried once the pair was ready.

Immediately, Robb went on the offensive. He swung his sword in an overhead arc towards Joffrey's head. Through what appeared to be dumb luck, the prince somehow managed to catch the blow upon his blade. Then Joffrey swung his own blade, but Robb knocked it aside with ease, before launching back, and driving Joffrey across the yard with a series of sweeps and shoves.

Arya watched proudly as her brother pushed Joffrey right up to the wall of men that surrounded them before he finally decided to finish it. With an elaborate twist of his blade, Joffrey's sword was wrenched from his grasp and landed a few feet away.

Almost before Arya could comprehend what was happening, Joffrey had ended up flat on his back with Robb's foot holding him down and the point of his sword pressed against his neck.

"Match!" Ser Rodrick cried. "Lord Robb is the winner!"

Arya saw Robb grin and then he stepped back, releasing the prince. He held out his hand to help the other boy up, but Joffrey snarled angrily. Arya couldn't help letting out a giggle, drawing the men's attention to the group of watching ladies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her goodsister smirk momentarily before the expression smoothed out into a proud smile directed at her husband.

Joffrey's face flushed as he realised the position that he was in. He sprung to his feet. "You cheated!" he claimed, jabbing a finger at Robb angrily.

"I did not!" Robb denied immediately, his expression darkening.

"You did!" the prince insisted. "I am the prince! Nobody can beat me! You should be executed for daring to harm me!"

"SHUT UP BOY!"

They all turned and saw him stamping towards them, face red and with Arya's father at his heels, looking concerned.

"Father!" Joffrey exclaimed. "Father, we were sparring and he cheat-"

"I said shut up!" King Robert snapped. "I saw the whole damn thing. He did not cheat, you are simply useless with a blade! By the Gods, I'll not have you shaming us in the home of my dearest friend with your nonsense and spoiled attitude! Not another word, you shall go to your rooms with Ser Barristan and remain there until I grant you leave to come out! Understood?"

"But I-" the boy whined.

"I said is that understood?" The king demanded furiously.

Pouting, the prince nodded sullenly, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard left the king's side to escort him away. Just after, Vitoria, her expression even, curtsied to the king before approaching her husband, allowing him to press a kiss to her cheek and whispering something to Robb, making him smirk. Arya decided she truly did not want to know what Vitoria had said, if the look Robb shot her as she walked off was anything to go by.

"Let us go, girls,"Septa Mordane ordered softly, directing them away from the yard, the lot of them silent. Arya was relieved to have gotten away from the Lannister men and the king. Their group was silent, everybody brooding on the scene that they had witnessed as they left. They were intercepted by a girl as they returned to their solar.

The girl, who Arya later realized was one of Vitoria's ladies, curtsied to them deeply. "Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, my lady desires to speak to you," she informed them. "She bids you come to your rooms to speak with her."

"We shall be there momentarily," Sansa said before Arya got the chance to answer. Arya nodded in agreement and Rena smiled, curtsied again and hurried off to her other duties.

"Off you go then girls," Septa Mordane ordered them briskly. "You must not keep the Princess waiting."

"Aye," they muttered before running off.


	4. Chapter III

**I want you all to review with questions you have about the story…I'm thinking of answering a few each chapter. **

**Also, tell me the top 3 OCs whose face claims you'd like for me to reveal. **

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

When the girls reached Vitoria's rooms, she had already called their brothers. Bran and Jon were by their table, with Leila on the latter's lap playing with his shirt while Alia and Artos played with Dawn on the floor. Sansa and Arya quickly took their seats on the table and looked to Vitoria and Robb, who were standing by the fireplace, Grey Wind sitting next to them with Magnus by his side.

"First of all, this is not a punishment. I am educating you, all of you. Some of the blame lies on me. I should have had this talk with you before the Royal party arrived. I should have prepared you all better." Vitoria spoke, crouching down to move Dawn away from Artos, ignoring the look of dismay Arya shot her when she saw what was happening. The younger Stark girl had proved to be quite enamored by the wolves and it broke her heart to see the wolf forcefully moved away from her nephew. Yet, try as she might, Vitoria was not fully comfortable with the beasts near her children, considering how young they were.

"Vitoria…" Sansa began, not liking where the talk was heading.

"Let my wife finish, Sansa, this is important" Robb said sternly, immediately making the younger girl lower her eyes submissively, understanding the importance of the situation. Robb _never_ scolded them, he left that to their parents or to his wife. When he did, it was because they had truly crossed a line.

"It is a significant distance from here to King's Landing. This trip is not without reason," Vitoria sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair back. "The King would not have come here with a great host simply to reunite with your father. He wants Lord Stark to go down to the capital and act as his Hand as we told you before. There has been no announcement, but Robb and I are confident he will accept. And the most likely scenario is that your mother will go South with him, along with most of you. Robb and I will have to stay here to hold the North with our children and Rickon, since they are all too young to travel such a distance. So, you must learn how to survive in the court. You must be smiling and graceful, paying compliments to other members of the court, but be wary of the Lannisters and use your reason when speaking to the royal children, rather than your heart or your daydreams."

Bran looked bewildered. "Vi…" he said in a weak voice."The Kingsguard is made up of knights. Knights are honorable and kind. Can't we trust them?"

"Not all of them, Bran," Vitoria's face softened slightly. "The South is different from the North. The Lannisters are very different from the people you are used to. Honor does not have the same meaning south of the Neck. Few lords and knights actually value their vows and their honor. During the Rebellion, Tywin Lannister ordered the Sack which killed countless dornishmen and women, so his daughter could become queen. The idea of knights and gold is very pretty, until you come face to face with it."

There was silence for a few moments, then Sansa stood up, her face flushed. "Prince Rhaegar had kidnapped and raped our aunt Lyanna."

"Countless innocents were murdered to pave the way for a new king needlessly. What crime had those in the Red Keep committed? Apart from serving the royal family, what had they done to deserve death?"

"Prince Aegon would have grown up to be as a bad as his father" Sansa all but spat. There was a glint in her eyes. She seemed to be searching for solutions to exonerate the visitors from the South that she had yearned to see, too blinded by the idea of going South to realize what she was saying.

"He would not have, Sansa. One man does not define an entire family and his actions should not have resulted in the murder of his wife and children," Vitoria's lip wobbled as she reprimanded the younger girl, though her voice was stony. "It became clear when your aunt was abducted that his father's madness had also affected Prince Rhaegar, but there was no way of knowing if it would also affect my cousin. Now we will never know, since his death was ordered by a lion."

Sansa looked as if she would say something more, but she flushed instead and she sat down slowly. Arya glared daggers at her sister. Bran seemed to find an interest on the floor and Robb looked disappointed.

"I sat us here together because I care for us all. We are a pack and together a pack survives. Be guarded and do not be swayed by carefully worded promises. If any Lannister asks anything of you, you must tell us. If you have questions you must ask them now," Robb told his siblings as he moved to wrap his arms around his wife, trying to ease the tension eating up her body. She smiled up at him in return.

"My brother sails North. I don't know when he will arrive, but it most likely will be a few days before or after the royal party sets off back south. Sansa, Bran, Arya, if he gets here before you leave, we will all talk about how the capital truly is. I already asked Luna and she agreed to go with you. Sansa, she'll be acting as your handmaiden. And don't even try to find a way for her to stay here. I'm perfectly fine having Rena and Lexa with me," she warned when Sansa opened her mouth to protest. "We talked to your parents about me going and staying until you were settled in, but your father prohibited it, so Luna will help you understand how the life at court works."

* * *

Cersei Lannister watched with curiosity as Vitoria Martell sat down with her ladies, goodsisters and children for a picnic near the training yard.

She herself was sitting at a table in her room, overlooking the gardens, a goblet of Arbor Gold in her hand. Robert was off on another hunting trip, Ned Stark, her brother and their sons accompanying him.

Ned Stark's gooddaughter was an enigma to Cersei. The girl was as beautiful as her naive goodsister, but the gaze in her eyes told her she was not as sweet or aloof as Sansa. Had she been born to another Great House, she would have had no shortage of suitors, perhaps she would've been married to the Tyrell heir, in any case she would have certainly fit in in the licentious court of Highgarden. Her dark locks framed a beautiful face, her amber eyes were mesmerizing and her body was proportioned in such a way that even her small bosom looked enticing.

And as much as Cersei hated to admit it, Robert was correct in Vitoria's resemblance to her aunt. While she did not look so similar to think she was Elia reborn, the resemblance was enough that they'd have to worry about a rebellion if she still lived in Dorne. To make matters worse, it was clear that she was not affected by the illness that had plagued her aunt during her whole life, making her features more pronounced. Cersei felt a pang of jealousy. Why had Rhaegar married that weak, sickly girl?

_Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger, more beautiful to cast you down and take all you hold dear._

She was broken from her thoughts by the sound of a voice starting to sign. The dornish girl was singing in Rhoynish. Judging by the few words she understood and the melody, it was a song filled with melancholy.

Cersei found her eyes watering.

"She's almost as good as Rhaegar," her twin said from behind her. He moved to sit across from her, watching the girl's hands glide across the harp. He was trying to remain stoic and proud, but even the Kingslayer was not immune to the swirling emotions the girl's song conjured.

Cersei watched as Sansa wiped tears from her eyes. The girl her son was to wed was too stupid, too gentle to be her downfall, even though her namesake had been a fierce, black hearted Queen of Winter.

But Vitoria Martell…The girl had a name that meant victory in Rhoynish and she couldn't help but wonder what Doran had thought, naming his daughter so.

"I wonder who her mother is?" Jaime said aloud. "I met Mellario before she left Doran and she looked nothing like her.."

"Robert mentioned it was some whore. I think it was the sister of Arthur Dayne, they say she threw herself into the sea after losing her daughter and after the Sack, no one knew if she was alive or death." Cersei replied. It was a matter she had thought long and hard about. Prince Doran had said nothing about the matter, but many doubted she was actually his wife's daughter. Yet, at the same time, it made no sense for a bastard to be passed off as trueborn, considering that bastards were treated much better in Dorne.

Jaime's face darkened. "Vitoria doesn't have the Dayne look."

Cersei wanted to laugh as she took a sip of her wine. Her brother's queer devotion to the dead knight and his sister was always amusing. He would brook no insult to them, Aerys' dead pitiful wife Rhaella, or the vixen Elia Martell, even though the latter had stolen what belonged to Cersei.

"Her husband is quite lucky though. The princess is pretty enough to invite into my bed." Jaime said slyly.

"Would you really bed her?" Cersei asked, doing her best not to allow any jealousy to creep up on her voice.

"Oh yes. No doubt she would draw some sort of weapon. She would snarl and kick and scream, as I fucked her, but it would be so worth the look on dear old Ned's ever so stoic face."

Cersei laughed. "Would you really fuck her just for the look on his face?"

"Come on, sweet sister, we've both done worse things for less." Her twin said with a conspiratorial smile.

* * *

Vitoria smiled as she watched the scene before her in the nursery. Generally, she wasn't an emotional person, rarely showing what she felt but watching her husband with their children did not fail to bring a smile to her face.

She'd been terrified from the moment maester Vaith had confirmed her first pregnancy a few months after her marriage. Every kick brought a shiver along with it and she'd sworn on the birthing bed that if she had a son, she'd drink enough moon tea to tear her womb from inside her body to ensure she could bear no more children. In the end, she's borne two daughters and gave birth too early to a boy a few months afterwards. She remembered crying and trying to make her baby boy breathe to no success and then being told that Alia would die from a fever. That was the first time she had felt any sort of maternal love towards the girls. The first time she had fed one of her children from her breast as well. To this day, she remained convinced it was her milk that allowed Alia to gain the strength needed to survive.

The worst part, she thought, was that she had not even been worried about the lack of connection she had with the girls, thinking it was normal. After all, her father was distant to all his children, except Trystane. Arianne, Quentyn and herself were basically expendable to him, she was sure. And her mother had left them when her youngest was still a babe. Whenever she visited her grandparents in Norvos, she did her best to limit her interactions with the woman. She'd resigned herself to the fact that highborn parents could not truly be happy with their children, disregarding the thought that she could have what her uncle and Ellaria had with his daughters.

But seeing the Starks when she arrived in Winterfell had changed that for her. Ned was not distant to his children, rather he took the boys all under his wing, even Jon Snow. Catelyn was nigh on overbearing when it came to the love she showered on her children. Seeing them made her realize she did not need to be like her parents.

Cautiously, she moved into the nursery, taking Leila from Robb's arms and pressed a kiss to her wild, auburn curls.

* * *

There would be another feast that night due to the royal visit.

Sansa sat in he room by her vanity as as her goodsister braided her hair in a Southern Style. Vitoria had not bothered much with her hair since the twins were born, preferring to wear it in simpler styles, but she had not forgotten how to do it. After all, she had been born and raised in a southern court before leaving for the North even if she had adapted quickly to life as a northern woman in order to be accepted by the Stark's vassals.

Vitoria had realized quickly that proving her fertility had not been enough, many were unhappy that the chance for their daughters or sisters to be wardeness had been ripped away. The only chance for them to accept her fully had been for her to shed her roots publicly. She had no wish for her future to be as Lady Catelyn, who had never truly been accepted, even with the birth of three sons. The older redheaded woman was unwilling to convert to the Old Gods and held ambitions for her family south of the Neck, not realizing how it could potentially jeopardize her children. Vitoria had learned from her goodmother's mistakes in the North and her parents' failed marriage in Dorne. So she had put the a façade of a woman who had been born and bred in the land of eternal winter, instead of a desert landscape.

"Do you think Joffrey and I will be happy?" Sansa suddenly asked and Vitoria gave her a weird look as she broke away from her thoughts. "What?" she asked, seeing her face.

"I have a bad feeling about him, that's all," Vitoria confessed, twisting some strands of Sansa's hair, her muscle memory acting up as she remembered herself and her cousins and sister readying themselves for some event at Sunspear or their fathers visiting the Gardens.

"You just don't like the Queen," Sansa muttered.

"True enough, but -" she was cut off by a yelp of pain from Sansa as Vitoria tightened her grip on her hair.

"Stop it!"

"I thought our talk a few days ago would have cleared things up Sansa."

"What do you think about Ser Jaime?" Sansa asked suddenly after a few minutes of uneasy silence. "He is handsome, isn't he?"

Vitoria scoffed, shaking her head. There was no way she would find herself attracted to such a man. "He's older than me by more than ten years and I'm not into Lannisters."

"Then who are you into, Vitoria?" Sansa asked, playfully this time as she smeared rouge across her cheeks gently.

"I think you should marry Willas Tyrell," Vitoria dodged the question.

"Marrying Lord Willas would not make me queen," Sansa complained, before adding bitterly, "and he is a cripple thanks to your uncle."

"The Queen of Thorns rules Highgarden in truth along with her grandson, while her son is only a figurehead. You marry Willas and would become the Lady of Highgarden in all but name. And the Reach is one of the largest of the kingdoms. There are rumors that Lady Olenna wishes for her granddaughter to become queen, which would make them the second family in the realm. You would still be powerful marrying him, Sansa," Vitoria tried to explain softly, but she was inwardly seething at how spoiled Sansa was acting. Clearly she had failed in instilling some sense of reality into the girl. She could only hope Luna would teach her what she would need to survive in the cesspit of King's Landing.

"My family would become the second family if I become queen. You just don't want me marrying Joffrey," Sansa rolled her eyes, annoyed.

"I want what's best for you. We are family and I want you to be happy."

"What about you?" Sansa turned around, "are you happy?"

"Yes," she answered simply, making the younger redhead scoff.

"Everyone tries to hide things from me but I know what's happening. Theon spends half his time at the whorehouse and Robb goes with him. Are you honestly saying you're happy that way? You're just a body to my brother."

"You want to talk about being a body? That's all you'll ever be to Joffrey. He'll bed you until your courses stop coming and once you give him his heir and his spare, perhaps he'll also want a daughter, he'll forget about you. He'll fuck painted whores and lie with noble virgins while you stay behind, forgotten with the children."

"He won't do that! He won't! Joffrey will love me as my father loves my mother!" Sansa shouted, making Vitoria laugh.

"Really?" She questioned. "It took years for your parents to love one another. Years! You'll never get that with Joffrey. Marrying for love is not possible for the highborn. We marry for duty. When we try to follow our hearts, it does not end well. My own parents thought they married for love and that was because they confused _lust_ and _love_. My mother left before my youngest brother had even been weaned from the wetnurse. I'm trying to help you, but you're too blind to see it," Vitoria explained, waking towards the door, making sure to slam it as she left the room.

* * *

A chill came over Vitoria when suddenly Shadow appeared with Bran's dire wolf (still unnamed, sadly). The wolves were insistent, tugging at her skirts despite her ordering them to set loose and yapping sadly. She followed after them reluctantly, and her heart stopped at the sight she saw once she reached the courtyard.

A small body lay in the floor, still and unmoving.

"Bran?" Vitoria whispered as she hurried closer. She let out a sigh of relief once she felt his pulse beneath her hand.

"We need help," she said, looking at the direwolves who immediately set off, she hoped in search for help, but for all she knew they could have gone into the woods.


	5. Chapter IV

**So, I was actually going to have 1x02 in one chapter, but I decided to split it so I could post it more quickly, considering this story has more than 70 follows already!**

**Thank you guys, truly. **

**I'm not completely happy with the end result of this chapter, but I really thought I should give you an update. **

**I'd like for you to tell me what you'd like to see and maybe I can add some of those scenes in future chapters, before the war breaks out. Also, continue reviewing with whose face claims you want me to reveal. And if you have any questions you want answered, also include them in your review and if they won't spoil anything, I'll answer them in the next update. **

**Face Claim Reveal: **

**Caitlin Stasey as Vitoria Martell**

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

The reality of court leaving did not truly strike Vitoria until she saw Luna directing Jory on which trunks her and Sansa's belongings were to go onto a wagon and which were to stay with them on the back of the wheelhouse.

Vitoria felt her heart squeeze painfully as Rickon's pleas to Ned reached her ear, the four-year-old boy begging to be allowed to go with his father and older sisters. She wanted to comfort Rickon, to say he would have fun with her children, but Vitoria knew it was not her place. Despite how it could seem to a newcomer, to someone who did not know who they were, she was not his mother. It was not her place to say anything when his parents were present.

Rickon would need to grow up soon and she would not be able to coddle the child as she had not done so with her own now. She'd be forced to treat the four children as if they were dornish, growing up in the desert her family had long ruled over. Her children and Rickon would not be given the luxury of growing up as sheltered wolves. The world was changing and she had to prepare them for it.

It was the idea of the girls' departure which was forcing tears to her eyes, however. Despite her initial attitude when she arrived in Winterfell, Sansa had been the first person to break down her walls; the first member of the Stark family she bonded with. It wasn't that much later that she was bonding with Arya. The bonds she had with the girls were very different, but they were real and strong. The thought of them leaving, for an indefinite amount of time did not sit well with her.

"You look uneasy, Princess," Draco said as he sidled up beside her, a gentle smile on his face.

"Everyone is leaving to go that thrice-cursed Red Keep," she said bitterly, "and, Draco, for the last time, call me Vitoria. We've known each other long enough for that."

And they had. Draco was Arianne's age and from a noble family in Norvos, the youngest son of one of her grandfather's friends. They had met when they were children and enjoyed the time they had together when she visited her grandparents. When he turned ten, he had announced his decision to become a sellsword, but being so young he did not leave his home yet. And when he heard of her betrothal to the Stark heir, he had decided to travel North with her as part of her guard. She trusted those who had traveled with her for her marriage and those who had stayed even more, but the trust she held for Draco ran deeper than most.

"Then I suppose you and your husband will have to double your efforts in continuing with your litter of children," As Vitoria turned her eyes up to look at Draco, a gaze of steel in her eyes, he affectionately touched her cheek.

"I don't know if I want another one just yet," she allowed him to wrap his arm around hers as they started walking. "With everything that is happening, it might not be the best of ideas."

"Last I heard, you told Lexa you despised having to drink moon tea," she could tell Draco was smirking before she looked up at him.

"I don't like the taste of it, that is true," she admitted, her voice low now that she saw Lannister servants coming. "But things are changing and I don't think it would be the best for me to swell with another child now that this is happening…and I don't know how my body would react to it. I got pregnant the first chance I got after having the twins, but my body couldn't cope. I refuse to go through such a thing again."

"Who would have thought little Princess Tori would grow up to be such a schemer?"

Vitoria laughed, wrapping her arms around his back, pressing her chest against the cool metal of his armor, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I need you to go South with Luna and the Stark girls," she murmured.

"Your grandfather won't like it, your highness." Another thing she loved about Draco. He didn't care about what her father said — even if he would also be displeased about her sending him away. His loyalty was to her as a Taten, not as a Martell. If her father sent him orders he'd scoff at them, but he would not dare disobey an order that came from her grandparents (not that they actually sent orders, they trusted her enough to know she would not get herself killed and messages took too much time to travel between Norvos and the North in any case).

He felt her scoff and looked down at her. "I know, but they will need you more than I," she moved away from him and wrapped her arm around his once more, leading him around the keep as they talked, this time in Rhoynish so no one else would understand them.

"The Red Keep has brought nothing more than grief to my family, Draco," Vitoria said, nearly seething. "And the Lannisters have always been looking for opportunities to rise higher. I don't think even having his daughter as queen will stop Tywin Lannister from attacking if he believes he will gain something from it." She took a deep breath before continuing. "They hated my aunt for taking the dragon prince away from Cersei. They hate Dorne, seeing us as whores and murderers mostly. My goodfather is much too honorable for his own good, his honor won't save him. And as spoiled as Sansa might be, she needs to survive, as daughter of the Hand, as crown princess and eventually as queen. Arya is too wild to survive on her own, without proper help. I'm trying to get Lord Aron to accept a proposal, but it's looking near impossible. But if I manage it, you'll only have Sansa to deal with, Arya would be safe in Dorne. I'll deal with my father and my grandfather, but I need to know those girls will be safe. If I could, I would send Allard with you, but my father will not forgive me for that." She was not so worried about Luna, the younger redhead had thick skin and a silver tongue; she'd manage perfectly if things went wrong.

Draco tilted her head up, his face teasingly serious. "It is a deal."

She turned her head to look at him, her mouth nearly level with his ears, but to any eavesdropper it would look as though she was kissing his neck. "I need you to inform me of the goings of the court."

"What exactly?" He whispered back, his voice equally as low, his breath warming her hair. She was suddenly reminded of how their position would look to any onlookers, but she couldn't bring herself to push him away. The visitors from court would expect to see a dornish whore, so why couldn't she give them what they wanted?

"Anything and everything you think may be of value. It's time for the lions and the stags to pay for their crimes."

* * *

"Arya, please, sit still," Vitoria pleaded as she tried to style Arya's hair.

"I don't want to go," the girl whined, but nevertheless she stopped twitching, allowing Vitoria to braid her hair. "Can't I stay here with you and Robb? I won't bother you, I promise!"

"Oh, sweetling, you'll never be a bother. But your father has to go where the King goes now that he is his Hand and he wants you and Sansa to go with you. Twist your head to the left please."

"But you, Rickon and Robb aren't coming!"

"Without your father here, Robb is the Lord of Winterfell and as his wife, I must stay with him. You know that Bran was meant to go with you. And, Rickon is too young for the journey which is why he was going to stay with us while the rest of the family went south. You'll enjoy the capital. And perhaps within a few months you'll go to Dorne as my father's ward."

Arya's eyes widened. She knew that Vitoria had been pushing for her to marry the heir to Starfall, but she did thought that since her mother disagreed it would not happen. "Truly?"

"Yes, really. I convinced your father and my own father to let you foster in the Water Gardens —" she was cut off by an uncharacteristic squeal from the younger girl as she threw herself into her arms.

"Please tell me about them!"

"Alright, come over here," Vitoria smiled as she led Arya towards the seats by the window, placing Rickon on her lap and wrapping her arm around the northern girl's shoulder.

"Now remember, your betrothal to Edric is still not secure, so I can't tell you what will happen there, but with luck you'll escape the Lannisters soon enough. The Gardens are truly beautiful, all children of Dorne are welcome in them…"

* * *

Robb came to a stop when he saw Jon saddling his horse. He had yet to become accustomed to the idea that his brother was also leaving and that they would probably not see each other again. But he understood that going the Night's Watch was something Jon wanted, so he didn't try to convince him otherwise. He only hoped his brother would be happy there, the gods knew he didn't have the chance to be happy in Winterfell, with Catelyn looking down at him no matter what. Despite his attempts to mend that bridge, his mother had not warmed to Jon in the least.

"You said goodbye to Bran?" He said, following after Jon. His brother only gave him a look, making him grimace in understanding."My mother?"

"She was very kind," Jon tried to lie, but Robb saw through it. Catelyn had never been anything but absolutely horrid to him, ever since he was a baby, all because he was not from her womb.

"You know Vi offered you a place in Sunspear," Robb tried, knowing bastards were treated much better in the southernmost kingdom. He had worried needlessly when his wife first arrived in Winterfell, believing she would shun his half-brother as well, but she had done her best to make sure he knew she did not see him any different to his trueborn siblings. "You could marry, have some children. Maybe work as a guard there and earn a knighthood."

"I don't want to depend on her kindness, Robb."

"Farewell, Snow," Robb hugged his brother one last time.

* * *

Vitoria smiled as she watched Robb and Emmett spar in the yard, cuddling Rickon closer to her. The young boy was inconsolable. Catelyn spent every moment at Bran's bedside and had abandoned her youngest in the process. In return, Rickon clung even more to Robb and Vitoria, who he had always seen as second parents, despite Robb being his brother. The age difference between them and the closeness in age between him and the twins made it so. But right now, the boy craved a mother's love and that was not something his brother could offer him.

She looked at her husband, her lips pressing together. She truly had gotten lucky with her intended. Robb was tall and well-built, as well as handsome with his tousled dark hair and his Tully blue eyes, not to mention his toned physique. It might not have been her choice to marry him, but at least they were both happy in their marriage.

"I tell you, Vi, if you were my wife, I'd be the luckiest man alive," Theon suddenly spoke from beside her, making her turn her head to look at him with a questioning look as she shifted Rickon on her hip. The Ironborn had never made any advances toward her; he'd made comments about her body, but she had put him in his place quickly enough. In any case, he knew that if he behaved inappropriately, he would not only have to deal with with her guards, but also with her and he had never liked being on the other end of a spar with Vitoria when she was angered.

"Why is that?"

"You give him the greatest gift any lord could want. Freedom. You don't mind if he finds another girl to occupy himself in one night. You don't mind if he goes to the whore house with me. He would not sleep with anyone else if you told him not to. And you don't even mind if he goes to your bed after spending the night burying himself in another girl," she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She saw Robb meeting her eyes and gave him a small curtsy as Rickon saluted him, making them all laugh at the young boy.

"I'm Dornish, Theon. We are much more free with matters of the heart and the body. I love him and it bothers me, but I learned not to speak against it. In the end, I am his wife, not those girls. The serving wenches from the kitchens and the laundry girls who sleep with him and whisper about it as they pass me are not the mother to his heirs. At the end of it all, he comes to my bed. If we were back in Dorne…" she trailed off as she saw a man enter the yard, setting Rickon down and running to hug him, "Quentyn!"

Her brother twirled her around before setting her down as they both looked at one another.

"You grew up," she whispered. The last time she had seen him he had been barely eight namedays old and awkwardly gangly. Not that she had been any better, in all honesty. Now he was a man grown, towering over her when the last time they had been together, she had been taller. But they had not seen each other in years and it was only natural that they would have changed in that time.

"That's what happens in nearly ten years, sister," he retorted before wrapping her in another hug. "Why didn't you tell send a raven from White Harbor? We could have prepared a feast or something to welcome you," she murmured against his chest, not caring how things might look to the rest of the keep.

"I wanted to surprise you. Now, I believe I still have a goodbrother to meet and that I need to make up for three years of not spoiling my nieces and my nephew."

* * *

Vitoria led Quentyn around the keep after she had shown him the rooms prepared for him.

"How are Arianne and Trystane?"

"Arianne is still jumping through the beds of the squires and heirs who visit the court or the gardens. It truly would be a wonder if she reaches her marriage without a bastard or two."

"Marriage?" Vitoria sounds surprised. Last her sister had written to her, their father had yet to make a decision on whom she would marry much to her chagrin.

"Father hasn't decided yet. But he's contemplating Garlan Tyrell. Not long after she returned from visiting you, Arianne tried to elope with Willas, but our uncle stopped them. Marrying Garlan would be a smarter choice, since he is a second son and would be able to live — ," Quentyn stops talking when she raised her hand as they reach a door.

"Ready to meet them?" She whispers, but she doesn't wait for a response, opening the door quietly and sighing contently as she watches her three children.

Rena is sitting by the fire, reading now that her charges do not need her. Alia and Leila were both fast asleep on the couch, obviously exhausted since they usually waited until Rena or Lexa put them to bed. Artos was gurgling on his crib and he immediately raised his arms upon seeing her at the door.

Vitoria makes a hand motion to dismiss Rena and walks over to the crib, holding her son close to her chest as she walks back towards her brother who is staring at the scene, frozen at the door.

"This is Artos," she says, raising her son's hand and giving a small wave before passing him over to her brother. "Support his back with your hand."

"He looks like you," Quentyn whispered, staring at his nephew's face and looking up when his sister scoffed.

"That's a lie and you know it. He's all Stark," Vitoria brushed back a strand of her son's hair. "None of them look purely like me."

* * *

Men didn't cry. Once boys reached the age of one and ten or so, they weren't allowed to cry. And so, Vitoria was taken aback when she saw that Robb's eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks stained with tears when he opened the door to their bedroom. She didn't judge him though – how could she, when his brother was, according to the maester, not likely to walk again?

Without a second thought, she shut the door behind him and rushed over to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and holding him to close to her as he cried, his body shaking with sobs.

"Vaith thinks that he won't make it," Robb whispered into Vitoria's skin, his fingers entangled in her hair. He was trying not to sob, to keep the tears from his voice, but he couldn't quite manage it. "He said he should have woken up by now. I don't know what to... what if he doesn't make it? He's so young, Vi. He had so many dreams... he wanted to be a knight! And even- even if he does survive, he'll be crippled for life! What kind of existence is that?"

Vitoria's felt her stomach twist painfullyt. "Its still just a what if, Robb," was all she could think of. "He deserves so much better, but at least there's a chance he might live. And he has a quick mind – a mind like his deserves to flourish."

Robb pulled away from her and sat down at the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. "I don't want to think about it anymore. Every time I think about it, I get these images in my head, of Bran mangled and broken." Vitoria nodded and crouched down in front of Robb. "I don't mean to be so harsh, I just.."

"I know." She placed her on his and offered him a reassuring smile. Robb nodded, forcing a small smile of his own.

Robb pressed a small kiss to her forehead, his eyes welling with tears again. She moved closer to him and pressed her lips against his, letting out a small moan when he squeezed the skin of her hips. He pressed his body closer and Vitoria shifted her body so she could straddle him, her nightgown's skirt pooling around her waist as she ground herself against him, feeling his length brush against her thigh. She struggled with the buttons of his shirt, before finally getting it off him and started pressing kisses down his chest. In return, he wrapped her nightgown in his hand and looked up at her, but she merely kissed him again and raised her arms, allowing him to take off her nightgown and throw it to the floor.

Vitoria rocked her hips slowly as Robb started pressing little kisses onto her neck and slowly moved down to the curve of her breasts, teeth nipping at her skin, making her gasp before she pushed him down onto the bed, leaning down as well to kiss him. She moved slightly, guiding him to her entrance so his length was teasing her warmth through the fabric of his breeches. His fingers curled into her hair and tugged, making her groan in response.

She suddenly stopped kissing him and looked down at him through her lashes. "Not like this, Robb," she murmured as she rolled off of him, sitting down on the edge of their bed. "Not like this, not when you're broken up about your brother."


	6. Chapter V

**Continue reviewing with questions and whose face claims you want revealed!**

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

A frown comes to her face when she sees Robb twirling a strand of Mona Umber's dark hair around his finger on the other side of the table. She looks to her son in an attempt to calm herself and starts feeding him small pieces of the meat they've been served.

It doesn't matter, she tells herself, it's only for a few more days. The girl will only be here for a few more nights, before she continues her journey further North back home after fostering with the Manderlys in White Harbor. She can only hope that Robb will not take her maidenhead and leave them in a struggle with the Greatjon.

Yet, she can't keep the nerves from getting to her as she tries to ignore her husband's blatant flirting. With that in mind, she takes Artos into her arms and Leila's hand into her own and strides away from the dining hall to the nursery, to tend to Alia who is fighting off a chill.

She shouldn't be so worried, she tells herself as she paces the nursery with Alia in her arms. She has already given Robb a son and two daughters, she cannot be displaced, her children's inheritance can't be stolen from them. But still she worries.

Because she can tolerate her husband going to the whorehouses and bedding the serving girls, but that is completely different from desiring a bannerman's daughter. The Umbers had considerable power and if Robb dishonored their only daughter, the Greatjon would seek reparations for it and that could easily mean marriage. While she may have given birth to a son, the knowledge of the toll it took on her body had not been contained to Winterfell and most of the North's Ealdormen knew what it had meant in the long run. They also knew of the Martells issues with fertility, of the amount of siblings her father lost in the cradle or before they could live. Whispers ran amok of how Alia was plagued by the same weakness her aunt fought all her life. As such, many were just holding their breaths for a missive saying one of her children had died. And she was not naive enough to think that some would not hope she would die the next time she took to the birthing bed, so their daughter or sister could step up and replace her.

They had not been keen to accept their as their future liege lady, the ghosts of the rebellion being too fresh even after more than a decade. There was the matter of the broken betrothal between Lord Stark and the Lady Ashara, who was her own distant kin. There is Jon, with all the Stark coloring possible and having been born in Dorne. There is the fact that her aunt was slighted by her husband spiriting away her own husband's aunt.

There are too many ghosts that threaten to make her position even more fragile than it already is and the thought of adding another problem to it makes her want to scream.

* * *

Two days later, Vitoria got to her feet when she saw the smoke coming from the library, running through the halls barking orders until she found Rena and Robb.

"What happened?" she panted, out of breath as she leaned against one of the walls.

"I was there," Rena admitted, "But I was the only one. I didn't hear anything until I -"

She was cut off by an agonizing scream they recognized belonged to Catelyn. And once again, they set off running, this time hoping they would not get there too late.

* * *

Rena did not think she had ever seen so much blood. Unlike Lexa and Luna or even Vitoria, she wasn't a fighter. She'd never been able to feel comfortable holding a blade in her hands. She knew enough to defend herself, having learned at Vitoria's insistence, but she disliked blood as a rule. She did not think there had been so much blood in one of the keep's chambers since Vitoria miscarried her second pregnancy.

Bran was still unconscious on the bed, looking unharmed. Lady Catelyn was slumped on the floor, clutching her bloodied hand close to her chest.

Yet, no one was truly looking at them. Rather, they were looking at the mutilated body in the floor. Bran's direwolf was licking his paws over the body, a content expression on his face with the knowledge that he had defended his master. Rena thought she could faintly see that the man's chest was still rising shallowly, the direwolf keeping a fierce eye on the man in case he rose up again to attack his young master.

"I assume someone sent for the maesters," Vitoria's voice rang out and a few of the servants nodded. "Is the attacker still alive?"

Someone moved to check.

"He is," the guard spat.

"Take him to the cells and keep him alive."

* * *

_294 AC_

_The letter Ned held in his hands was far too pleasant to be about something so serious. The fact that it was an order did not help matters._

_Ned might not be well versed in politics, but he could easily see how Robert's accession to the throne had not been accepted by all. Dorne had been waiting silently for over a decade already, since their beloved Princess Elia and her children had been brutally murdered. They had not rebelled but it had merely been because of Prince Doran and his prudent policy._

_It was vital to unite Dorne to the rest of the Kingdoms, and what better way than by marriage?_

_He thought of his wife and the hard time she had had adjusting to life in the Winterlands and winced. If Catelyn of House Tully had a hard time adjusting to the sudden shift in her life, how much harder would it be for Vitoria Martell, a princess of Dorne?_

_He had to find a way to talk to Robb. It would not do to hide it from his son, not when Jon Arryn had expressed the urgency of the matter in the letter._

_Ned was not afraid of his reaction, his son would not complain. He would do his duty and marry who he was told to. He only worried he would resent the girl for tearing him away from his foster brothers in the Karhold._

_After dinner, he stood up and told his son to follow him into the godswood where they would talk._

_Robb looked up at him in disbelief when he finished explaining, "A Princess of Dorne? Here, in Winterfell?"_

_"I know this catches you by surprise, but it is vital to tie Dorne to the throne, my boy."_

_"Why us? Why not send her somewhere south? It will be a great and sudden change for the girl. Why us?" Ned had to note the logic of his question._

_"Offering a Lannister or a Baratheon would be a mistake as Dorne still mourns Princess Elia and her children. Robert and Jon are both hesitant to trust the Reach with this and offering your Uncle Edmure could be taken as an insult since he is so much older than both of Prince Doran's daughters. The task of uniting Westeros is of House Stark."_

_Robb nods. "I understand, father. What do you know of my intended?"_

_"Vitoria Martell is Prince Doran's second child and daughter after the Princess Arianne. She has two younger brothers, Princes Quentyn and Trystane. I've heard great tales or her beauty and virtue from visitors to Dorne. However, as I told you, the Martells still mourn the late Princess Elia and her children. The Dornish are proud and I do not expect them to have taken the news of your marriage well. That is why Lord Arryn added a clause to the preliminary marriage contract which says that despite her marital status, she will remain a princess as she would have done had she married within Dorne, which is usually the case for the spare heir of House Martell. We expect her in three moons.. The wedding will be held a week after she arrives."_

* * *

Vitoria examined the dagger as she walked back into the keep, breathing the fresh air once again.

It was very well made, Valyrian steel and dragonbone; its edge looked as deadly as the ancestral greatswords. The entire questioning hadn't revealed much more than they could've worked out themselves.

He had cracked quickly enough. It was clear he did not know much, but she was certain that they now knew everything he knew. The blonde hair was an interesting detail, though. Her mind immediately jumped to the Lannisters, of course, but she had no idea why any of them would want to kill Bran.

"Princess Vitoria to see you, Lady Catelyn," Emmett bowed her through the door of Ned's solar, where her goodmother was sat behind the desk, looking over some ledgers. She hadn't looked herself since Bran's fall, and now after his attack she looked even worse, with dark circles around her eyes and a pale complexion. Ever the lady, however, she was sat up straight and raised her chin as Vitoria entered.

"What did he say?" Catelyn didn't bother with pleasantries. "Who sent him?"

"He doesn't know," Vitoria sat down opposite her, without invitation, playing with the dagger in her lap. She'd rather like to keep it; it would be excellent to fight with, and was small enough to hide on her with ease. Perhaps she could keep it for one her children, when they were older. Artos would be expected to wield Ice or another sword, but the girls could use daggers. "We asked him his name. He's a nobody, a poor sellsword who joined with the king's party on their way north, hoping for some work as a guard," She placed the dagger between them on the desk with a soft clunk. "This is the dagger he used. He says a cloaked figure gave it to him, and paid him to kill young Brandon Stark. They gave him directions to Bran's chamber, so he would have had to have known the castle at least a little,"

"Are you sure he wasn't lying?" Catelyn took the dagger, eyeing it darkly with tired eyes. "He could be withholding information. He knows the moment we've got everything, he's dead,"

"I'm sure," Vitoria nodded shortly. "We were very thorough," Her goodmother wrinkled her nose ever so slightly at that, making Vitoria' lips twitch, but still she looked unsure. "If you like, you can go and see him yourself. He's still alive, just."

"No," Catelyn shook her head. "It's fine. Did he have anything else to say about this cloaked figure?"

Vitoria hesitated, knowing how reckless Catelyn Tully could be. "He remembered seeing a lock of blond hair fall out of the hood," she spoke carefully, watching Catelyn's reaction.

"Blond," The woman's eyes narrowed in dislike and suspicion, and Vitoria immediately wished she had said nothing. Catelyn was silent for a moment, thinking, but then seemed to remember herself. "Was that all?"

"It was," Vitoria nodded, reaching out to take the dagger. Her goodmother's fingers twitched towards it, as though to take it first, and Vitoria raised an eyebrow. "Do you want it?"

"No. Apologies," She blatantly did want it, but Vitoria still took it and immediately sheathed it to her leg. "Thank you, Vitoria," She nodded in acknowledgement, and left, passing Maester Luwin on the way out, heading towards the courtyard.

* * *

"The damages to the structure were minor. And few men have injuries, none of them serious," one of the servants explained to Vitoria. "We have yet to find the source for the fire, but thank the gods for their mercy since no one is in danger of leaving this world."

Vitoria's amber eyes were hard as she assessed the damage the men were cleaning, stroking her daughter's flaming hair over her shoulder. She wondered about who could have done it and came up with a blank. Who could have wanted to set fire to the castle and murder an innocent child?

"Alright, go help tending to the injured. And I'd like an evaluation of the damages as soon as possible."

The man walked off after a bow and left Vitoria tending to her daughter's sobs. Leila had started crying when she heard her father say he was going towards the tower affected by the fire and by now, Vitoria thought the only way to calm her down would be for her to see that Robb was alive and uninjured. She'd quickly relieved Lexa of the task when she went to the nursery, but so far she had not had more luck than her friend in calming her down.

"Vi," she turned around and saw Robb, his face void of emotion but his eyes lighted up when he took their daughter into her arms, rubbing her back soothingly with one arm while he extended the other one to loop it around his wife's. Vitoria allowed it, walking with him across the castle.

* * *

In the godswood, Catelyn held council with the people she trusted most in Winterfell, even if to her chagrin she'd had to include Vitoria and Quentyn in the meeting.

"What I am about to tell you must remain here," the woman sighed. "I don't think Bran fell. I think he was pushed from the tower."

"What makes you say that?" Quentyn questioned, his brows furrowing together.

"The boy was always sure footed," Maester Luwin remarked, sharing a look with Sir Rodrick.

"Someone tried to murder him twice," Catelyn pointed out. "Why? Why kill an innocent child? Unless he saw something he wasn't meant to see."

"Saw what milady?" Theon asked, looking concerned at the thought of Bran's injuries being inflicted upon him rather than an accident. After all, he had grown up in Winterfell and known the younger Starks since they were babes.

"I am not sure. But I would bet on the Lannisters being responsible. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown."

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Ser Rodrick posed the question, a thoughtful look on his face. "It is too fine for a simple man. Made of dragonbone and Valyrian steel. Someone must have given it to him."

"They come into our home and try to murder my brother? If it's war they want -"

"Robb…" Vitoria started, her voice low as she grasped his arm.

"If it comes to that, you know I'll stand behind you," Theon agreed without hesitation causing Vitoria to glare at him.

"What? Is there going to be a battle on the godswood?" Maester Luwin asked the three young adults.

"Words of war become acts of war too easily," Quentyn remarked, locking eyes with his sister. Both siblings were thinking the same thing; perhaps now they could finally avenge their aunt Elia and their cousins. But this wasn't the way. They needed time to prepare for every eventuality as they had been taught during their lessons. They needed time to prepare; time to make various plans so if one failed, they could rely on the other as a backup.

"Lord Stark must be told of this," Maester Luwin looked at Catelyn.

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words," Catelyn argued, shaking her head.

"I'll ride to King's Landing," Robb offered, stepping forward.

"No. I'll go," Vitoria stepped forward as well. Robb needed to remain in the North, acting as the Warden and the Lord of Winterfell. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"I'll go with you," Quentyn voiced.

"No. The Lannisters hate the dornish more than anyone else. Neither of you would make it out alive," Robb shook his head.

"No. Neither of you will go," Catelyn denied, making the three young adults to look at her. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And Robb and your children need you, Vitoria. If anything happened to you, Prince Quentyn, we could find ourselves in conflict with Dorne. I will go myself."

"Mother, you can't."

"I must," Catelyn's voice was firm as she stared at her son.

"I'll send Hal and a squad of guards to watch you," Ser Rodrick inclined his head.

"Too large a party attracts too much attention. I don't want them to know I'm going," Catelyn argued, shaking her head.

"Let me go with you at least. The Kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman traveling alone," Ser Rodrick insisted and Catelyn relented, nodding her head.

"What about Bran?" Robb asked as he twined his fingers with Vitoria's.

Catelyn looked down, sorrow in her eyes. "I have prayed to the Seven for more than a month. Bran's fate is in their hands now."


	7. Chapter VI

**I am not completely happy with this chapter, but I've been thinking of how to change it and it doesn't come out like I would want it to, and I really felt like I had to post it.**

**I also wanted to apologize if you feel Robb has been OOC. He _has_ been, but that was necessary for this part of the story. There are some things of his character that will be righted, but others will not. However in the next few chapters he will redeem himself. Part of the reason he will not go back to being who he is in canon is Vitoria and what she has changed in their years of marriage. **

**Continue reviewing with questions! And, please also tell me if you would like for me to answer your reviews as I did when I first posted the story.**

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

Robb pulled away from Vitoria, bending down to kiss her lips before leaving the bed, "We should go make sure Bran is okay."

She nodded. The poor boy had woken up after Catelyn left and been desolate when he learned he would not walk again. He wished for his death. She understood why he felt that way, but still it broke her heart to hear him say so. "I'll go. I'll get Rickon and the girls on the way, maybe they can cheer him up."

The door to their room sounded as someone knocked.

"Come in."

Rena came inside, a small platter with herbs and parchment in her hands with a sheepish smile on her face.

Robb watched in amusement as Vitoria's shoulders slumped, her mouth twisting into a grimace. "Leave it on the table, Rena, thank you. I'll be right out so you can help Vitoria dress."

"M'lord," Rena curtsied before leaving, not seeing Vitoria's frown.

Robb turned back to his wife, seeing the annoyed expression on her face due to the platter. At least now she would not need to drink moon tea, if the herbs she had requested of her cousins had finally arrived. He had not wanted her to drink the tea, the North took kinslaying as one of the greatest sins and crimes, yet moon tea had no clear definition. If there was no babe, it truly wasn't killing anyone, but still it was removing his seed from her womb to stop it from taking root and forming a child. In his eyes, the herbs were a much better alternative when they supposedly worked by stopping his seed from taking root instead of flushing it out.

He knew it was something necessary if they were going to continue being intimate before the maesters gave them the go-ahead to have another child. He had seen her after birthing Artos and considering how weak she'd been, he wasn't surprised she needed more time to recover than with the twins or Torrhen. But he also knew it frustrated her that after more than a year since birthing Artos, she still had not recovered enough to even risk a pregnancy. "Just a few more months."

"Hopefully," she shook her head as she rose from the bed.

Robb went to speak before the door opened, Vitoria scrambling to cover her naked body with their bed sheets. It was Theon that stood there, breathless. "Robb! The Imp is here!"

* * *

Tyrion Lannister seemed to be standing trial in front of Bran when Vitoria arrived at the hall, slipping inside and staying by the door, wanting to see how this all would develop. She'd hastily dressed and even as she entered, she was still one-handedly plaiting her hair in a simple style she'd learned in Norvos while her other hand struggled to twist the sash at her waist.

The Imp was looking up at Bran, who was in Hodor's arms. "Would your companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is beginning to hurt."

Bran nodded, turning his head towards the taller man. "Kneel, Hodor."

The Lannister stepped closer, holding something behind his back that Vitoria couldn't make out due to her view being blocked as she made her way towards the front.

"Do you like to ride, Bran?"

Bran's eyes widened before he nodded. "Yes…well, I liked to."

"Lord Brandon has lost the use of his legs," Quentyn explained from his spot by Robb at the front of the room. Mentally, Vitoria made a note to ask her brother how he got there so quickly when last she remembered he liked to sleep until late even by dornish standards, where the days were longer and had more sun.

Tyrion seemed to snort, "What of it? With the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I'm not a cripple!" Bran huffed.

"Then I'm not a dwarf. My father will rejoice to hear it." Tyrion's quick wit retorted, before taking something out of his pouch. "I have a gift for you. Take it to your saddler. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and the boy's voice."

"Will I really be able to ride?" Bran's eyes widened.

"You will," Tyrion's voice softened. "On horseback, you'll be as tall as any other man."

Robb stood from the old weirwood chair reserved in the hall for the Lord of Winterfell. "Is this some kind of trick? Why do you want to help him?"

Mentally, Vitoria slapped Robb. He really needed to learn the time and place for such things. Her husband had learned, but he was still too blunt for the politics of the South.

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things."

The door to the hall opened once again and this time with no subtlety, like it had opened for Vitoria just a few minutes earlier. The twins burst in, breathless and pale with the direwolves. Her daughters stopped at the door, unsure but the wolves had no such qualms. Their eyes found the dwarf and Summer began to growl as Grey Wind padded towards him.

The Lannister took a step back in fear, but Summer came from behind him, snarling. He recoiled, yet Dawn came at him, tearing at his sleeve.

"No!" Bran shouted, as the men escorting Tyrion Lannister reached for steel. "Summer, to me!"

The direwolf seemed disappointed at his order, but complied nevertheless, growling once more at the dwarf before walking over to Bran and lying down beside him.

"Grey Wind!" Robb called and his wolf immediately went to his side, nuzzling up his leg as her husband allowed his fingers to sink into his fur.

"Dawn!" the twins chorused and though Dawn gave the man one more snarl, she went to her daughters.

"You've done my goodbrother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours, Lord Tyrion," Vitoria cut in, to defuse the tension, before her husband could make another faux pas she would be forced to clean up.

"Spare me your false courtesies, your highness. There's a brothel right outside in Wintertown. I'll find a bed there and we call sleep easier."

* * *

"Lexa," Vitoria called as she went to close the door, "what did I do wrong?"

She immediately paused, and while she did close the door, she turned around and hurried back, wrapping her arms around her princess and pulling her closer.

"I had my doubts about him loving me," Vitoria choked out, tears running down her face. "But even so, since the beginning we've fit when we're in the bedroom. Now I don't know where I stand. He blows hot, he blows cold. One day he's as devoted as he was in the weeks surrounding Artos's birth, others I think he can barely stand to look at me."

"Shh, shh," she soothed, threading her fingers around her hair, "you've done nothing wrong. Robb's just an idiot."

"But I have," Vitoria continued crying, "I did not tell him when Vaith said I was recovered enough. I continued taking moon tea and now the leaves Arianne and Tyene sent me -"

"And you can do what you want with your body," Lexa cut her off firmly. "Never mind that it's his seed. You felt the change in the wind as I did and you decided to protect yourself."

"I-I went about it wrong-" hot tears fell on her shoulder, seeping through the samite of her dress, but she simply wrapped her arms tighter around Vitoria, allowing her to cry.

In her mind, she cursed Robb Stark for reducing her oldest friend to this crying mess. Stark men had to stop breaking the hearts of dornish women. Her mother had warned Vitoria before they left Starfall one last time, but it was as though the warning had not been given. Vitoria had allowed herself to fall for her northern husband now she was paying for it.

She'd see if she managed to talk to Quentyn on the morrow. The gods knew they had no love lost for one another, but Robb was more likely to listen to his goodbrother than to her. And things could not continue this way.

* * *

Vitoria and Theon were practicing in the main courtyard while Bran was going over a map of Westeros with Maester Luwin. Theon was shooting bullseye after bullseye, but Vitoria was clearly struggling which made Bran become distracted from his studies.

"Bran," Maester Luwin spoke up in a warning tone, trying to get Bran to pay attention.

He pointed to a spot on the map with a wooden pointer, causing him to look down at it.

"The Iron Islands. Sigil: a Kraken. Words: We do not sow."

"Lords?"

"The Greyjoys," Bran stated and Theon immediately stopped shooting arrows to speak up.

"Famed for their skills at archery, navigation, and lovemaking," Theon explained proudly, laughing loudly.

"I could've sworn they were famous for their failed rebellions," Vitoria remarked cheekily, her arrow finally hitting near the center.

* * *

Rickon hurried down the steps as he followed Vitoria down the halls, he was careful not to step on the back of her yellow and white dress while they walked; he barely let his good-sister out of his sight now that his mother was gone. His mother had not told him much about why she had left, she had only said that she would soon be back and kissed his forehead.

"Where are we going?" Leila asked curiously, they didn't like that everyone seemed to be leaving and no one told them why.

The four young children all wanted everyone to come home again so that things could return to normal. Rickon didn't like that both his parents were gone, but at least Robb and Vitoria were still there, even if he was sometimes jealous that the twins had their parents while his own were away. Leila wanted her papa to be able to spend more time with her; ever since Nonno Ned left he had been more busy; Alia wanted Sansa and Arya to come back so she could be Sansa's doll again and so Arya could teach her where all the passages in the castle were.

"We are going to see what happened to Bran," Vitoria replied gently.

Rickon simply nodded. He had also heard the yells and shouts when Robb and Theon had returned with Bran.

* * *

_Tio Oberyn,_

_How do things fare in our lands? How are yours and Ellaria's little girls? I do so wish I could be there to hold them and watch them grow. Mine own children bring me so much joy. I often wonder how I created such perfect little beings._

_I fear for my goodfather in King's Landing. That city already took so much from us, I would not wish for my husband to lose a parent there as well. What do our spies tell you? What cracks has the lioness shown since the death of the old Hand? Is the fat stag still whoring his way into an early, drunken grave or has his old friend managed to straighten him out?_

_Things in the North are dire, I must tell you with a heavy heart. Wildlings are passing through cracks in the Wall and the air is becoming colder. I think that soon I shall have to send Alia to the Water Gardens, I do not think that she will survive winter in the North. It will pain me to send her away, but that may be the only way for her to survive. Her health never completely recovered from when she was a bebe, and my heart swells with both pride and worry for her everyday. _

_I do believe, however, that my goodfather being in the capital may allow us to avenge those we lost to the lions and stags in the rebellion. _

_Your brother's figlia,_

_Princess Vitoria Stark of House Martell_

* * *

"I shall stay with my brothers tonight," her husband said gruffly as he grabbed a blanket from the ledge above their fireplace, heading for the door.

"No surprise there," she snorted, wrapping the furs tighter around Leila as she shifted Artos on her hip.

"What," Robb turned to face her, his eyes cold, "is that supposed to mean?"

"You're rarely here Robb!" She hissed, trying not to alert her children that something was ill between their parents. "It's always this or that. Since your father left you've barely been a husband to me, except when it's in your convenience or when you want to fuck me. My patience is running thin as it is."

"And how am I expected to act as your husband when our whole marriage has been a sham? When our marriage was a way for your family to avenge their death?"

Vitoria had nothing to say to that, even if he had the wrong idea. So she kept quiet, pulling their son closer to her while her amber eyes were fixed on her husband's blue. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break, no matter if he would think he had won this round by her silence. Despite what he seemed to believe, she had not been feigning her love for him. That was not how she had been raised. In any case, he had been the first one to declare his love and she had been quiet on the topic until she knew for sure she loved him. She would not play with his feelings in such a way; not when her own had already been played with for all her life. So she kept quiet, staring defiantly into his blue orbs.

When Alia started fidgeting in her bed and she leaned down to fix the furs, her husband left their room, leaving her with a cold feeling on her chest.


	8. Chapter VII

**Hello! I'm amazed by the response you've given me in the past two weeks since the last updat, truly. Thank you.**

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

Vitoria had been all but asleep when he came. She had given up on waiting for him after an hour sitting by the fire, but she knew it was him just by the smell and the way his feet hit the ground. She had dismissed Rena and Lexa earlier and was glad to have done so. She did not want an audience if she and Robb were going to scream and yell at each other. It was enough that Allard and Andrei were going to hear them as they were guarding her door that night.

She had not been expecting him, not when things between them had soured so badly in the past months and he spent more time in the whorehouse than with her. She had also not been expecting him to climb into her bed and wrap her in his arms. That was quite possibly, one of the last things she had expected, so she tensed without thinking and she knew he felt it.

"I am so very sorry, Vi," he finally spoke and she thought he sounded to be on the verge of tears, "I have not been the husband I should have been. I have not been the man that I promised to be, I see that now."

Vitoria did not know how to answer to that, but she knew just by the tone of his voice that he was serious and as she looked at him she felt tears well up in her own eyes, but she did not let them fall. She had to be strong now, she could not forgive him so easily, not after all he had put her through. These past few months had been hell for her. She would not dishonor herself by forgiving him so easily.

"We were happy," her voice shook slightly, "I loved you and I love you still, but your love is fleeting. You knew I loved you and you threw it back at me, parading your whores and your visits to the brothel. I won't stand for it, Robb. I won't stand for it any longer."

"I know, Vi, I know please forgive me. I know that I did not treat you as you deserved, but I want to make things right," he was pleading with her now, begging her to take him back into her heart. Robb didn't care how weak he looked or sounded, he wanted them to be happy again, to be the way they were. The way they were always meant to be.

"So you are finished with this then?" Vitoria asked coldly. "No more? No more heartbreak, no more harlots, no more visits to the whorehouse when we argue?"

"Yes," Robb said immediately and he meant it, "there is only you, now and forever, I promise you I will honor our vows until the day the gods see it fit to tear us apart."

"Do you know what my father said before I left Dorne?" she laughed drily, not even looking at him before answering herself. "He said that my siblings were all steel. They are strong and well liked and they can be easily molded. But he said I wasn't simply steel. Valyrian steel, he called me. Strong and light, more coveted than normal steel and unable to be changed. It was one of the few times I felt as if he were proud of me. But you proved him wrong, didn't you? You hurt me, Robb and I can't go through that again."

Robb pressed a kiss to her forehead as his finger grazed the curve of her cheek. "I will be better. I will be the husband you deserve, Vi. I swear it. On the Old Gods and the New."

She simply nodded her head. She did not trust herself to speak. She could not forgive him yet, but she could accept him back and see if his actions would mirror his words.

* * *

Vitoria walked quietly into the stables, seeing Theon take Osha's face tightly into his hands. It looked as if he were about to kiss her when she cleared her throat.

"Theon, I would like a moment alone with our guest," she said pointedly, ignoring the glare the Ironborn shot her as he stormed out of the stables.

"My apologies for Theon, he has never been one to understand what no means."

"I've dealt with worse," the wilding woman said simply, brushing aside her words.

Vitoria accepted that, and knelt down with a sweet smile on her face, before she grabbed the woman's face. "Listen here," she began in a threatening tone. "You tried to kill an innocent boy. I don't like you and I never will. And despite what you may think, I have nothing against Theon. You're here by my husband's grace and I can't act against his wishes. But how can I know you won't find a way to kill me, my husband and the children as we sleep?"

"Wouldn't really be much of a point in doing that now, would there?" Osha questioned, wincing as the dornishwoman's grip in her face became tighter. "After all, your husband did let me live."

"That does not mean —" her words were cut off when Maester Vaith came into the stables and saw what was happening.

"Vitoria!" the man scolded her, "That woman is our guest. Let go of her."

She did as asked. Despite the fact that she outranked him as the lady of the keep, the maester had been present in her life since her childhood and that warranted her respect.

With one last glance at Osha, she stormed out of the stables.

* * *

_Grand-méré,_

_I hope this finds you well. Has nonno's health improved? _

_I find myself worrying more and more with everything happening on this side of the sea, if I speak truthfully. My goodfather went south to serve the Usurper and took my two goodsisters with him and I fear for them. The poor girls will not be safe in that cesspit. Things are changing in Westeros and I do not know if we are ready for this change. _

_Lord Stark and the Lady Catelyn did not even see it fit to arrange for the girls' household. I myself came to the North with a great entourage. I only let go of gradually and I came into a land known for its honor, I can only fear what those girls shall go through in the court of the lions. _

_My father has not answered my most recent letters and what Tio Oberyn has written are short responses. I detest asking this of you, but could you see if your daughter has heard about my father?_

_Your little sun,_

_Vitoria_

* * *

Artos squealed with delight as the horse trotted slowly around the enclosure, thrilled to be riding a proper horse for the first time.

His pony was dull next to this!

Robb kept a firm grip of his son with one arm, holding the reins in the other hand as he guided their mount. Artos's plump fists clutched the reins tightly but the horse was too well-trained to be distracted by the touch of anybody save his master, and ignored the boy's light tugs.

After dealing with a man from Wintertown whose grain supply had been robbed, he felt that he needed to be with his wife and children, out in the open air. Unable to enjoy his usual sports, he had decided that today would be Artos's first riding lesson.

Vitoria watched from just outside the enclosure, applauding lightly whenever they passed her by, every so often adjusting Leila in her arms or crouching down to whisper something into Alia's ear who was tightly grasping her mother's skirts.

Artos was delighted to have an audience, blowing kisses to his mother and bouncing in the saddle whenever they came near her, despite Robb's gentle admonitions to sit still.

To his credit, he was doing his best to remember everything Robb told him, sitting up straight, keeping his head held high, as his father did, and always holding the reins with at least one hand.

When he was younger, Robb thought that, when he became a father, he would be the one to teach his sons to ride, something his father never did for him. Once his father left to serve as the Hand, however, he soon learned how great the demands on his time would be and knew that he would not be able to do all the things he wished to do with his sons. He cherished the moments like this, when they could be a family without pressing matters dampening their time together.

Knowing that it would thrill the little boy, Robb guided his horse into a canter, circling the enclosure a couple of times. Artos squealed in delight, his little fists tightening around the reins.

When the horse slowed to a stop, Robb dismounted, lifting his pouting son down from the saddle.

"I wan' 'o again!" Artos protested, dismayed that their sport ended so soon. Aunt Rena caught his eye, giving him a reproving frown to remind him to be on his best behaviour around his Mama and Papa, so they would know that he knew how to behave as a big boy should. He subsided but he thought that his Mama's friend couldn't understand why he was cross.

He was going to be a man soon and a man needed to be able to ride a horse!

"Tomorrow, if you are a very good boy and do as Aunt Rena tells you," Robb promised. It was also more than a little chilly today, and he told himself that he shouldn't keep Alia standing outdoors too long. And it looked as if Vitoria needed to go inside as well, with how pale her complexion looked.

* * *

_297 AC_

_Vitoria couldn't help but think that this hurt more than anything else she had felt in her life. And that was counting giving birth to twins, having a miscarriage and dealing with her wounds from training. It had already been over two days since her pains begun, but she still had not succeeded in bringing her son into the world and she knew, despite what everyone said to reassure her, that if the babe did not come out soon she would die. She was too weak for things to go any other way. She could feel the blood gushing out of her and knew that she would not last much longer._

_"She is losing too much blood —"_

_"The babe is in breech —"_

_"I will die today," she moaned, the pain becoming more unbearable as she felt something tear. _

_"You will not die," Lexa soothed her, "you are strong. Your son is strong."_

_"Do not let my son die," Vitoria pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Do not let him die. If you have to choose, choose my son."_

_"Both of you will live," Lexa sighed out. _

_"You must push, your highness," Maester Vaith spoke up and Vitoria groaned in response, heaving for breath as she did her best, but there did not seem to be a change. _

_"Lexa, Luna, I need you to help move her. The babe is stuck and moving her can speed up the process. Slowly bring her closer to me until she's at the end of the bed," Maester Vaith ordered._

_Once Vitoria was in position, Maester Vaith inspected her better and sighed out at seeing the tears at her lower regions. He would need to stitch her up once the babe was born. "Push again, your highness. Harder."_

_"What do you think I am doing!" Vitoria groaned, "he's tearing me apart from the inside out."_

_She closed her eyes, trying to think about her daughters and how they needed her. _

_"He's here!" Maester Vaith exclaimed, "push, your highness, push!"_

_Vitoria nodded weakly, grasping the sheets around her body and pushing, letting out a relieved sigh when she heard an infant's cry and collapsing back onto Luna._

* * *

Vitoria loved the hot springs in the godswood. She had been cautious when she first came to Winterfell. She was a sun of the desert and a phoenix of the hills; she was used to cold water in order to hydrate herself and avoid falling due to a heat stroke. In Dorne and even more in Norvos, bathing in hot water would be a situation only acceptable during an illness. But things were different in a land of perpetual winter. She had initially resisted Arya's and Sansa's pleads for her to accompany them, deeming them to be much too warm for her to be comfortable in them. By the time she had finally agreed to go, she had grown too large with the twins and could not make the trip unassisted, so it was nearly a year after she became a Stark that she swam in the hot springs and realized what she had been missing.

They fascinated her, water which never cooled, water hotter than any bath she had ever taken inside the walls of the keep. Since she recovered from her first childbirth, every chance she got, she would slip away to the wolfswood, one of her guards hidden amongst the trees to keep her safe, and soak in the waters. As always, she shed her clothes quickly, slipping into the water to keep the winter's chill away; it was starting to become colder, the merest hint of winter approaching.

Vitoria let herself relax as the heat began to sink into her tired muscles. Running the keep and caring for five children was a tiring task. Robb had been gone for the past fortnight, having gone to the Karhold to catch up with his foster brothers and then on a hunting trip, and she missed him horribly. The children missed him as well, especially Leila, and Vitoria felt as if her days were spent alternating which child to hold while using her other hand to run the keep. Things had improved between them since that night, nearly a month ago when he had pleaded for her forgiveness, even if she remained guarded.

She allowed herself a few minutes of quiet, thinking only on the feel of the water against her skin as she felt it wash away her worries. She allowed the water to rejuvenate her as she had not done since the first time she submerged herself in these very springs. It had been years and perhaps it was time for her embrace her roots once again. Yet, the wind started to blow harder, rustling the leaves and her concentration was broken.

The children were growing, she mused, her hand ghosting over her stomach as she floated the waves of the spring. Soon, she would have to think about their betrothals. Northern matches would be the best, but perhaps she could also sneak some dornish ones as well. The bannermen in both kingdoms were restless, being slighted now for two generations. Her children might not be Martells in name, but they had Martell blood and marrying them to a bannermen might soothe the aches of the nobles.

Vitoria was not sure how long she had been in the hot springs when she heard the sound of hooves crunching on the snow. Sinking down until the water just covered her breasts, Vitoria waited to see if it was Emmett, if there was trouble, when Robb and his horse stopped at water's edge, a dazzling smile on his face.

"You're home!" she cried as he all but leaped from his saddle, already stripping off his clothes.

"Finally. I swear, I was drunk half of the time I was there; we had to make a stop at an inn and Theon and Harry kept insisting I match them drink for drink. It is a wonder I remembered the way back," he smirked as he looked at her gliding in the springs, the water doing nothing to hide her body. "I did miss you."

He dove into the water, reaching her in a moment, pulling her tight against his body. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pushed against the water to meet his kiss, his hands brushing aside wet ropes of hair before settling themselves on the top of her thighs. His mouth was hungry against hers, more desperate than it had been before he left, and already she could feel his hardness growing against her stomach.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he groaned between kisses, trailing them down her body as she drew her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, his hands settling on her ass. "I dreamt of you."

Vitoria trembled at the feel of him pressing into her, shifting her hips to try to hasten his actions. It was not until he was deep inside her, his breath hot against her cheek, that Vitoria remembered they were not alone in the godswood.

"Emmett will hear us!" she gasped as Robb began to kiss her throat, his hips moving slowly as their bodies found their rhythm once again.

"As I'm sure he has before, what with how you carry on."

Vitoria gasped, nipping his shoulder with her teeth, drawing a laugh from his chest. "Me? You are the one who shouts."

"Then make me shout," he challenged, bringing a smirk to her lips. And make him shout she did.


	9. Chapter VIII

**I'm so _so_ sorry for the delay. I had this written a week ago, but I just kept postponing revising it and proofreading it. On the plus side, I'm almost done with the next chapter so I might be able to update later this week or early next week. **

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

Knocking on the chamber door, Maester Luwin didn't waste a moment before he entered room and closed the door swiftly behind him; his hands clutching at the letter that had just arrived knowing that Robb would want to see it.

"I am sorry to disturb you my Lady," Maester Luwin murmured, moving towards the bed, he hadn't meant to disturb her but this couldn't wait. He had hoped to find Robb with her in the nursery, since he was not at the hall, but he still was not there and he could not ignore the lady of the castle.

She sighed running her fingers through Alia's hair, while she opened her spare hand.

"Urgent news from King's Landing," Maester Luwin insisted handing over the letter that he had just received.

Vitoria waved her hand, dismissing him as she read the letter. Her stomach churned as she read the words, taking a few deep breaths before setting down her daughter and leaving the nursery.

Her husband had to read this.

* * *

_Robb,_

_I write to you with a heavy heart. You have been summoned to King's Landing to bend the knee and pledge your fealty to the new king, Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name. _

_The late King Robert was fatally wounded in a boar hunt and has passed his crown to his beloved son with his wife serving as the Queen Mother until their son has a better grasp upon his kingship. The new king has summoned you to bend the knee and pay your respects; he also asks for you to bring Vitoria and your children, so your wife can also plead her allegiance as a Martell and a Stark and the realm can see the southernmost kingdom united with the North. _

_Our father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, has been imprisoned for plotting against Robert Baratheon and his heirs in an attempt to take the throne for himself. I beseech you to ride South and prove the North's loyalty to the Iron Throne. _

_Father is in the dungeons, awaiting his trial because he conspired with the king's brothers to steal the throne. I am being given every comfort by the Lannisters, but brother I beseech you to ride South to swear fealty. _

_Your beloved sister,_

_Sansa_

Robb crumpled the letter in his hand and swore. "What in the seven hells had my father been thinking?! What could he have possibly done to piss off the Lannisters so much?"

"He probably discovered a truth they'd rather keep hidden," Vitoria said gently. "Or, they had something to do with Lord Arryn's death." She pressed a kiss to his curls. "They are Cersei's words in Sansa's hand. Those final words about how they have been treating her are a threat."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His father had no idea when to keep secrets and when to tell them. It was sad to think that he probably knew more about how to play the game than his father. But, after all, his father did not have a wife who was dornish, a wife who had a fervent hate for the Lannisters and the Baratheons for the murder of her aunt and cousins.

Robb flattened the letter out so it would be more easily read. Everyone needed to be able to read it. He closed his eyes and swore.

* * *

"What do you want?" Elinor Tanten had asked her granddaughter nearly a decade ago.

"Que?" Vitoria had responded._ What?_

"What do you want?" Elinor responded. "Un épouse gentil? Un épouse bello? Un épouse rico? El amor? È che non vuoi un marit." _A kind husband? A handsome husband? A rich husband? Love? No spouse?_

"Knowledge." A ten year old Vitoria had said.

"D'un épouse?" Elinor had asked. _From a spouse?_

"Respect." Vitoria had amended her answer. "Voglio poder et le respect." _I want power and respect._ "Amor tambien." _Love as well._

"Tu est sage" You are wise, Elinor had said. "Power can be a woman's only solace in this world. C'est mon." _It's mine._

"Grazie, grand-meré."_ Thank you, grandmother,_ Vitoria had responded.

"Power is fickle," Elinor had continued. "Power won't keep you warm at night. It will exhaust you but exhilarate you beyond anything you can imagine. In order to hold it you must balance on the thinnest of threads. I was born to power and lands, my title, my bloodlines have not even saved me from its loss. It was wed to a distant cousin because I was a girl and I had to marry. But I married into money and power as well. You cannot afford a single misstep."

"Et l'amour?" _And love?_ Vitoria had asked.

"If you're lucky you'll have it."

* * *

Robb listened as the bannermen stood, roaring for a call to arms against the crown. He could not blame them. The last time a Southron king had held a Stark hostage, it had not ended well for either of them.

"We cannot go to war until my father and sisters are safe," he said. All the men had ceased their roaring when he spoke. "We can go to war afterwards if we need to, but right now, we need to focus on getting my father and my sisters back."

"What shall we do then, Lord Stark," Dacey Mormont asked.

"You will march South with an army, however, it will be passed as a delegation of the North's major lords as a sign of good faith, to show you will all bend the knee to the new king, as a way to solidify his new rule with the backing of the entire North. However, it is a warning. The North is the largest kingdom of Westeros and if the king does anything… you will be ready," Quentyn answered instead, his voice frosty though his eyes showed his worry.

He would ride with them, Robb remembered. Outwardly, as a show of good faith from Dorne. But truly it was at his own insistence, along with Vitoria's. His wife had already told him that she was better than her brother at playing the game, but that the Yronwoods had still instilled some political skills in Quentyn. So, Quentyn would ride south with them to try to counter the Northern brashness with southern subtlety. All the while, both siblings would continue to write to their father, in an attempt to gauge his reaction to the changing political climate.

* * *

The lords come, day after day, and their men too. It isn't that Vitoria is surprised by this, but she's also never been privy to a muster before. Dorne, still bitter over Robert's Rebellion, had all but stayed out of the Greyjoy Rebellion, and as such there had been no banners to call in that year, but through her hazy memories she remembers enough to know that the Mad King never summoned his forces to the capital.

This has not quite come to war yet, she tells herself.

She's lying to herself and she knows it. She has lived among the Starks long enough to understand that unless Joffrey can produce a very good reason to justify his accusations of treason, there is no possibility that Robb will accept it. And so, it will indeed come to war. She just wishes that Arianne would write back to her, that Luna would write more than 'call the banners'. She must have known something was going to happen before it did, but didn't dare commit it to paper. Which means that whatever is at the root of it all is very dangerous indeed.

In the absence of more information, Vitoria is sensible enough to view this as another opportunity to win support as Lady of Winterfell. So she hosts the lords bannermen and their levies, one after another. All of them want something, of course; that is the way of things. Lady Mormont's brought one of her youngest daughters, Lyra, to be a companion to Vitoria – Vitoria accepts this, along with a promise to take in Jonelle Cerwyn after the war. It's better this way, for her to have northern ladies from northern families. She knows many were displeased that instead of doing so from the beginning, she chose an Arryn and a Tully bastard and kept Lexa with her.

Vitoria learns what the lords all want at night, Robb coming to their chambers and lying beside her, looking for someone to confide in more than a lover these days. She learns that Bolton and Glover both insist on battle command, Hornwood is even more demanding, wanting a holdfast, hunting rights, and to dam the White Knife – which the Manderlys will just hate, she imagines.

"The Greatjon wants Leila to be betrothed to his grandson," Robb says one night, toying with a lock of Vitoria's hair. "They are nearly of an age – the boy's name is Jon as well and he's six – so it's not such a bad match."

That could be quite welcome if Leila was not going to be her brother's heir until they had another son, Vitoria thinks but does not say. It's far too early for anyone else, even her husband, to know how determined she is that her daughter inherit if anything were to happen to Artos, and for another, it is also too early to select a husband for her.

* * *

Vitoria sighed as she set the spoon down, peering at the pot. There was still something missing, the mixture should be clear, but it still held a bluish tint to it.

She looked at the herbs in the table nearby and grabbed some nightshade and hesitantly added it, a small smile breaking out on her face when after the steam generated finally dissipated the liquid was now transparent.

Carefully, she poured it into three small vials, until the pot was dry and empty, setting them aside before she added the dried sage and the yarrow leaves, pouring a small amount of ale over it before crushing the leaves and washing them dissolve.

While the substance boils, she takes out the small chest where she's been storing them all and grimaces when she realizes that she still hasn't made enough of them all for her to feel comfortable sending Robb with them. She should have made more, but this came so unexpectedly and she hasn't had the time.

* * *

The most dramatic night comes when the Greatjon almost takes his men back home. For a moment, Vitoria is almost certain he's going to draw steel on Robb – she sees his sword begin to clear its sheath – and then, suddenly, Grey Wind is there, and two of Greatjon's fingers are mere bleeding stumps. "My father taught me it was treason to draw steel on your lord – but doubtless you only meant to cut my meat," Robb calls in a voice that rings through the hall, and Vitoria can see the steel underneath his skin.

The Greatjon, shockingly, laughs, and it's clear even through the man's pain that Robb's gained an ally. Vitoria relaxes in her seat beside her husband, and as the feast resumes becomes aware of a low chuckle to her other side. Theon Greyjoy's place at the high table had been murmured at, but not so much as she might have expected. "Share the joke, Greyjoy?"

"Only that Robb won more help tonight letting his wolf off the leash than he has in days upon days of carefully playing the lord. Not that he hasn't done a good job of pretending to be his father, but if only he'd known we could have been past this mess already."

"Yes, well, having a wolf mutilate a high lord isn't usually a good idea. Robb was just fortunate that the Greatjon isn't a typical high lord."

"None of the Northerners are. They're greenlanders but not like the southrons," Theon says with a shrug. "Not so unlike your Dornishmen, didn't you say so before?"

Vitoria has – listening to stories of how the smallfolk gathered in the winter town when winters came, sheltering beneath Winterfell where the castle and its hot springs provided warmth. It reminded her of the importance of water back home, how people gathered near oases, turned even the bitterest sources of water into something at least tolerable.

The North and Dorne were on opposite sides of the continent, but they had much in common. People worked together to survive on the extreme weather and unlike in the other kingdoms, the lords did not just spit on the commoners. They were different, but at their core, they were very similar.

* * *

Vitoria sat in front of her vanity, brushing her hair. The door to her chambers opened and Vitoria smiled slightly, knowing Robb had arrived.

"You're late, dear husband," she complained, feigning annoyance even though there was a smile playing on her lips.

"I was supposed to be here at a certain time?" Robb asked as he started stripping, quickly removing his coats and furs.

She stayed silent as he walked over to her, wearing only his breeches. He wrapped his arms around her upper body, trailing kisses down her neck. She chuckled as his hands reached her breasts before he made his way to her nightgown's lacing, grabbing his wrists and prying them off her body.

"Stop," she spoke up, and turned to face him, seeing his confused face.

Vitoria placed her fingers on the waistband of his breeches, pulling her husband close and pressing their lips together before once again pulling away. "Take off your pants," she demanded playfully.

Robb chuckled before obeying her orders. He tugged at his pants, untying them and allowing them to fall to the ground. Once he was completely bare, having kicked away his breeches, he looked at his wife once more. But Vitoria wasn't looking at his eyes, rather she was looking down, causing him to smirk.

"How is this fair?" Vitoria looked up and finally met his eyes, "I'm naked here while you are fully clothed."

"Get on the bed," she demanded.

Robb continued to look around, not obeying her. "Since when are you so –" he was cut off by Vitoria pushing him down onto their bed.

He stared up at his wife, shocked by how dominant she was becoming all of a sudden. He used his elbows to prop himself up as Vitoria slowly untied the lacing at her chest. He watched closely, his smirk becoming wider at the sight he so enjoyed. She allowed her nightgown to fall to the floor, leaving herself as naked as he was.

Vitoria walked towards the bed and straddled Robb, who immediately grabbed her waist to flip them over. "Don't think about it."

She smirked when she saw how shocked he was and pressed her palms to his chest, lowering herself and letting out a gasp as he held back a groan.

"Are you sure we can't -" Robb tried to ask, wanting to be on top.

"Tonight I'm in charge. You leave tomorrow, Robb. It might be one of our last nights together," she answered as she rolled her hips to match his instinctive movements, a small sigh escaping her lips.

Hours later, the pair finally grew tired and pulled away from each other, their bodies glowing with sweat. Vitoria laughed to herself, her body pressed against Robb's as they both came down from their highs.

"Promise me something Robb," Vitoria whispered from her spot at his chest. "Don't bring home a bastard like your father did to your mother. I know you won't remain faithful, but please, make sure you don't have a child with another woman while you are away."

"I promise," Robb kissed her head as he pulled her closer to him, her hair pooling over his shoulder.

* * *

**George R.R. Martin has said that some of the Free Cities were inspired by the Mediterranean coastline. I took this into consideration when creating my own version of Norvos. For those who do not remember, Mellario (Doran's ex-wife) is Norvosi, which makes Vitoria part Norvosi. In my mind, in Norvos they speak a mix of the Romance languages, hence the scene between Vitoria and her grandmother showing French, Italian and Spanish.**

**I apologize if any of the translations are wrong. I speak Spanish fluently and while I can understand some French and Italian, I am not fluent in them. For the French and Italian translations, I used Google Translate and amended things if I realized something was wrong. **


	10. Chapter IX

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

Vitoria wrapped the furs tighter around her as she walked into the great hall, hurrying her steps until she could sit next to Robb, quickly melting into him.

"The children went down alright?" Her husband asked, his breath hot against her hair as he pulled her closer. She simply nodded, trying to warm up. The storm that had delayed their marching was subsiding, but it was still bitingly cold. Especially towards her, who even after almost four years was not fully accustomed to the cold. She saw her brother across from her, bundled up in even more furs and stifled a laugh as she tried to focus on the stories the men were telling. The heirs and younger lords who had come to Winterfell and the few ladies that were also at the castle had all arranged for a small meeting at the hall to remember their faith before the battles to come. If the storm continued to subside, the men would be able to leave tomorrow and start marching South.

"So if Odin lives in Valhalla, is he the only god that lives in a great hall?"

Most of the northerners snickered at her brother's question, the Smalljon letting out a loud laugh.

"No, there are many halls," Dacey Mormont answered. "Thor lives in Thrudheim."

"And Frey was given the hall at Alfheim when he cut his first tooth!" Harrion Karstark chimed in, unbothered by the scowl that appeared on his brother's (Torrhen's) face at his enthusiasm. Despite Robb having fostered at the Karhold, only Harry seemed completely at ease with him. Torrhen and Brenan treated him respectfully, yes, and warmly enough, but there was a distance there. Perhaps it was simply the closeness in age, Harry was only a year younger, whereas Torrhen and Brenan were six and four years older, but she thought there was something more there.

"Nearby is Valhalla, vast and gold-bright. And every day, Odin chooses slain men to join him. They arm themselves and fight in the great courtyard. They kill one another; but every night they rise again and ride back to the hall and feast," her husband started the tale, and with a nod prompted Theon to finish it.

"The roof is made out of shields. The rafters are spears. Coats of mail litter the benches. A wolf stands at the western door and an eagle hovers above it. It has 540 doors, and when Ragnarok comes, 800 warriors will march out of each door, shoulder to shoulder."

"What is Ragnarok?" Only silence remained after her brother asked that question.

* * *

"Stay just a bit more," Vitoria whispered, her voice hoarse from the night before as her hand grasped his wrist with uncharacteristic strength for her slim frame. He complies after looking at her, understanding that the decision to march is also taking a toll on her. She's the one who will have to hold the North while he marches South and he knows that sometimes, she still feels like an outsider. Not as much as she had when she first arrived, but every now and then she still felt as if she didn't belong in Winterfell and in the North.

She snuggles closer to him, their bodies fitting together seamlessly, her curves melding into his own crevices as she rests her head on his bare chest.

"It will be alright," he tries to soothe her as he feels her breathing become more erratic against his skin.

"I never did tell you about my family, did I? About it all?" she asks after a few minutes, once she has controlled her breathing and wiped her tears away. "My grandfather was born and raised in Norvos, whereas my grandmother is from Volantis, but they are third cousins I think, maybe fourth. They married for convenience and though it never blossomed into love, they are content with one another. My mother is their only child, from what I understand there were some complications in the birth and because of that my grandmother could not fall with child again. My mother and father met when he visited Norvos as a young man, they supposedly fell in love from the moment they saw one another. I - I never fully bought into that story, how could I when my mother left me as a child?"

She turns to face him, before continuing on and he lets her because he realizes that this is something she needs. Vitoria had told him of her family, but only briefly and here and there. She had never said so much in so little time, even if most of what she had just told him he already knew. "My parents' marriage deteriorated quickly, that much I've known all my life. I don't think they were even truly happy by the time I was born, if I'm honest and that was only a few years after they wed. They sent me to live with my Aunt Elia as soon as I could travel and it wasn't until her death that I went back to Dorne, what does that say about them? I went to Norvos for three moons every year and while I did my best to ignore my mother, my grandmother quickly filled the void of a mother I had been missing."

"Vi, you're rambling," he says, cutting her off and pressing a kiss to her forehead. It's not that he wants her to stop talking, rather that he knows she would not speak of her family if she did not have a point to make. He knew it was a sore topic for her, so whatever she means to tell him must be of importance.

"Sorry," she blushes, "I, I learned things from my grandmother and my Aunt Shara in Starfall that my father saw fit to deepen during the six moons of the year I spent with him. Arianne, even if she is the heir, was never too interested in ruling and with Quentyn was away with the Yronwoods and with Trystane being so much younger, I was his only choice, truly, if he wanted to instruct at least one of us in the politics he so loves."

Vitoria slipped out of his arms and sat up, leaning down on her elbow, her hair cascading down her side as she looked at him. "I know how to rule, you know that Robb. Even if I was only ever meant to marry a dornish lord, my father taught me what I needed to know. You have to be firm when you set off. You are Lord Stark now that your father is in chains. Lords Bolton and Karstark will want to seize power by any means possible, I know Karstark is still bitter you married me and not his daughter, so —"

"And I'm all the gladder for it," he interrupted her, pressing a kiss to her hand. He was fond of Alys, but he did not think he would have been happy married to her.

"Robb, I'm serious. You are Lord Stark now and they'll see you as weak since you've never seen battle. They'll think you a greenboy easy to control and you have to prove them wrong. The important decisions, you'll have to make them yourself. Take their counsel, but remember that at the end, you hold the power and the decisions are yours to be made. They are your father's bannermen and you are acting in his stead as the commander. So you have to _command_."

* * *

_To Prince Doran Martell, Lord of Sunspear_

_I fear war may be upon us soon and I would plead with you to join the dornish forces with my husband's northern ones who will be making their way to the capital by the time this missive reaches the dornish sands. The new King Joffrey Baratheon has placed my goodfather in chains for what was surely a misunderstanding, yet I feel it will not end this way and so I wish for the support of Dorne._

_This might be the reckoning we've been waiting for. Perhaps after all these years we might gain the justice owed for the deaths of the Princess Elia and her children. _

_Princess Vitoria Stark of House Martell_

* * *

Vitoria turned to her wardrobe and pulled out her heaviest cloak, then sat in her chair to pull on her boots. She took a moment to steel herself before she left, and then she exited her chambers quietly and went into the nursery to find her children were still asleep. Robb must not have wanted to wake them, with it being so early. But she had no such reservations, they deserved to say goodbye to their father, despite the early hours of the morning.

So carefully, she woke up Artos and then moved to the twins, scooping up a blurry eyed Alia into her arms once Leila was up, standing besides her brother, while their wolves both were walking in circles and cocking their heads towards the door. Once her three children were all wrapped in quilts and their coats, she gave in to the wolves' desires and opened the door.

When they reached the entrance hall, Rickon was being led away by Rena. The boy had tears running down his cheeks, and the blonde girl was speaking softly to him. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, stepping outside in search of Robb. Dawn found Grey Wind first; the wolf sat dutifully beside his master's horse. Vitoria crouched down carefully and wrapped her arms around him, pressing little kisses to the top of his head and all down his nose, whispering lovingly to the wolf as Leila and Artos attacked his back with hugs. He had grown on her, despite her initial reservations about having a wolf as a pet and he had always been protective of her children, so that served to gain him points in her book.

When she stood, Robb was behind her. She swallowed thickly, then moved with small steps towards him. His hands hung limply at his sides, and she took them, squeezing.

"I don't want you to go," she said softly, voice hardly carrying over the sound of rain that was fast approaching the castle. They would have to leave soon in order to avoid being drenched. Robb pulled her close, taking Alia from her arms and pressing a small kiss to their daughter's temple.

"I know." She couldn't help the choked sob that slipped out. He pulled her close and she buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly while he moved his arms to bring Leila and Artos into the embrace. She felt him press kisses to the crown of her head, and then he pulled back and brought his hands up to cup her face.

"I love thee," he said firmly, looking her square in the eye. "Don't you ever forget that."

He crouched down then, pressing a kiss to Leila's cheek and to Artos's brow, before setting Alia down and ordering them back inside.

"And I love you," she replied once she had seen her children inside the walls of the castle. He kissed her hard, wrapping his arms so tightly around her that she almost couldn't breathe. They pressed their foreheads together when his lips left hers, and she moved his hands to her stomach, laughing slightly when she saw the look on his eyes. Her hands covered his, and she gave him a small, bitter smile as he exhaled.

He then knelt in front of her, making his face level with her stomach. "I know you are a boy. And by the Old Gods and the New, my son," he murmured as she threaded her fingers through his curls, "you have made me a happy man."

"We'll be waiting for you. Just come home soon."

He kissed her lips again, then her forehead, and pulled her against his chest. "I will. I promise."


	11. Chapter X

**I really meant to get this out sooner. I'm sorry. I was mapping out some of the later parts of season 2 for the story and had to make some changes, so I simply wanted to make sure everything was well set-up. **

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

Time was a luxury, Vitoria was learning. She was running the castle with Luwin's help, while they used the opportunity to teach Bran how to deal with ruling. There were considerably less issues to be dealt with with most of the men marching south, but she was trying to make this a learning opportunity for the boy.

Yet, with the toll this pregnancy was taking on her body, she was stretched thin in trying to run the castle, care for the children and trying not to worry about Robb marching South. To top things off, the spare wolf the men had found months ago had attached himself to her and was now following her around the keep. She did not quite know what to make of her new companion.

The castle felt lonely. Months ago, it had been filled with the shrieks from the wolf pups and their owners. Her daughters and Rickon running behind their two wolves while Artos toddled behind them. Sansa yelling at Arya for one thing or the other, while Catelyn scolded Bran for climbing. Now it was quiet.

It was obvious to her that while Bran was trying to grow up too fast, Rickon and her girls were soaking in whatever time they had left to be carefree children. To her chagrin, Bran and Rickon had become fond of the wilding woman. But at the very least the woman did not seem to wish them harm. That brought her some comfort.

She had moved her children into her rooms, sharing the bed with her daughters while Artos slept in a cot next to the bed most of the time. But some nights she would feel the need to hold him close against her chest while her daughters slept beside them. She needed the reassurances that they were there, as the bed would often feel empty without Robb wrapping his hand around her or their legs being entwined with one another.

* * *

The Northern camp moved gradually, but had to stop at the Twins. Despite Walder Frey being a bannermen to Catelyn's father, he was reluctant to aid them. And the close relationship he'd had with Tywin Lannister over the years was not helping matters.

They needed a way across and they needed it now. Which was what led Catelyn to enter the Twins with the intention to broke a deal that would be beneficial to both sides. The meeting had been long and the men were becoming more anxious.

"Well, what did he say?"

"Lord Frey had granted your crossing. His men are yours, as well. He will keep a small number to hold his keep and protect the crossing," Catelyn informed them all, but she did not state the terms. She wished she could speak about it privately to her son.

"What does he want in return?"

"You will be taking his son as your squire with hopes of a knighthood." She started off with the one that was the least impactful. "Arya will marry his son when they both come of age."

"No." Her son's voice was firm.

"Robb, this is necessary."

"No. Vitoria is in charge of her betrothal and she will marry Edric Dayne and become Lady of Starfall," he said firmly. "She can't be promised to a Frey if she is already betrothed."

"If I may," cut in Quentyn Martell. "Promises made in times of war are easily broken."

"That is not honorable."

"No, but it will grant you the Crossing. If not, then we could propose a future child of mine. Don't mention Arianne nor Vitoria and their future children. Hopefully, Frey's one of the foolish lords who thinks I will succeed my father." Robb nodded in agreement, before nodding at her to continue.

"Before you married Vitoria, there were some offers from your hand by Freys. He knows you will not request the marriage be annulled, but he wishes for the hand of one of your children."

* * *

"Robb hasn't written," Bran said one day, his voice subdued.

"He's busy, I'm sure. And it's likely they've only stopped to sleep and eat, with little time for anything else," Vitoria explained carefully. In truth, that was one of the things that had been on her mind these past few days. "He'll write as soon as possible."

"You think he miss us?" Rickon asked and she had to suppress a smile.

"Of course he does, sweetling. I'm sure he would love to be here with us."

"And Mother?"

Her lips formed a thin line. "As well." Truthfully, she wasn't sure what to say. She was sure Catelyn had stayed with Robb for a reason, but she had two, younger, children in Winterfell. Catelyn might feel that Robb needed her guidance and support, but she forgot that she was not a military expert. And, having his mother with him would hardly serve to endear the Ealdormen to Robb.

* * *

"A raven came this morning," she spoke after entering the nursery, tightening her shawl around her shoulders. Tears were gathering in her eyes again and a lump rose in her throat, preventing her from saying anything more. Rickon ran at her and she knelt down to pick him up, allowing him to settle his head onto the crook of her neck.

"Father's dead, isn't he?" Bran's voice was hollow, breaking the silence of the room.

"Bran..."

"I dreamt it," he explained. "Last night. Is that what the raven came for?"

She sat next to him on the bed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, curling them both in her shawl. Bran was quiet, sniffling and trying to calm his breathing and not make it obvious that he was wiping away his tears. But Vitoria knew how it felt to lose a parent, could feel the echoes of pain throbbing in her chest, so she gathered him and his brother closer as Rickon buried his face in her shawl and cried and cried.

That night, she clutched her daughters close to her. Leila had cried herself to sleep, and she was afraid that she'd wake up during the night and become distraught again. Alia had been calmer, but she had still sobbed her little heart out and went to sleep sniffling.

They didn't quite understand that their grandfather was dead, only knew that Nonno Ned wasn't coming home, but that was enough to make them upset. Alia had tried running off at first, but Rena had caught her going down the stairs and took her back to Vitoria's room very patiently, paying no mind to the fight she was putting up.

Rickon was frustrated now, angry because he didn't understand why his family was leaving him and even angrier that one of them was never going to come home even when everyone promised he would. It had been months since Ned's last letter, wherein he told the boys that he loved them and missed them and that he'd visit soon to see them again. Rickon had kept the letter and hid it somewhere, and shortly after lunch, he came storming up to Vitoria with tears in her eyes, waving the parchment in his hand and shouting, "He said he'd come back! He said!"

* * *

_Papa,_

_I write now not as the Wardeness of the North, nor the Lady of Winterfell. I write as your daughter_

_And, as your daughter I ask that you support my husband in his quest for vengeance after his father's beheading. The supposed king, Joffrey Lannister, is a liability and he is not fit for the throne. This is the moment we'd all been waiting for, Papa. We can finally avenge the wrongs done to my family._

_And it's not as if you would rise up with no reason to do so. The father of your goodson was outright murdered by the crown. A fellow Lord of an entire region. If Joffrey Waters is not held accountable for it, then he can do it again. And who is to say the next one to be beheaded will not be you or Tio Oberyn?_

_Tu hija,_

_Vitoria_

* * *

"The proper course is clear. Pledge fealty to King Renly and move South to join his forces." A lord spoke out.

The camp had been in disarray when the letter from King's Landing arrived, bearing the news that Lord Eddard Stark had been executed on charges of treason.

"Renly is not the king."

"You cannot mean to have us pledge ourselves to Joffrey,"the Smalljon spoke up. "He put your father to death."

"That does not make Renly king." Robb stated firmly. "Robert Baratheon won his crown when he slayed Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident. Joffrey is a bastard who is not fit to be king. Robert's right passes to his oldest brother according to their laws. If my wife is not the heiress to Dorne above her older sister, the same principle applies to Stannis and Renly."

Things were different in the North, of course. They were the only ones who still kept the old ways. All sons (and daughters, if they proved capable) were the aethelings for their House, even if most of the time it was the eldest son who succeeded his parent.

"Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?"

"Renly is not right!"

"My lord, my lords," the Greatjon laughed, calling the attention onto himself. "Here is what I say to those kings," he announced before spitting on the ground, inciting rounds of laughter.

"Renly Baratheon is nothing to me. Nor Stannis either. Why should they rule over me from some seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall? What do they know of the wolfswood? What do they know of Valhalla? Even their gods are wrong!" He pointed it all out to the others. "Why shouldn't we rule over ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to and the dragons are gone!" He pulled out his sword from its sheath and turned to Robb, bending his knee. "There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to! The King in the North!"

Theon followed his actions. "Am I not your brother, now and always?"

"Now and always," Robb confirmed.

"My sword is yours. in victory and in defeat, from this day until my last day."

The other lords followed their lead and pledged their swords to him. All the while he could only think about how Vitoria would react. Her family had lost much the last time one of their own became tied to a throne and he would not imagine that she would like this role being thrust upon her.

"The King in the North! The King in the North!"


	12. Chapter XI

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

She'd asked Lexa and Luna for help in herding the children to the godswood. Their complaints had almost made her change her mind, but seeing them now she could not regret it. She knew they had tired during the day, having spent most of it splashing in the springs, but this was needed.

They needed the closure. They all did.

Tasking each of them with finding something Ned had given them, she had made sure they understood it would not be something they could see again. That had stopped Rickon from choosing one of his toys soldiers, at least. She did not want to even think about the headache he would cause her, asking for it back.

It was a simple ceremony and it could not even be called a funeral. When a Stark died, the funeral was an extensive process ending with the family members seeing the body interred in the crypts below the castle, but they did not even have Ned's body and even if they did, Robb, Sansa and Arya deserved to be there as their father was laid to rest one final time.

Instead, Rena had come up with the idea for each of them to bury something in the godswood, basing it off a tradition held in the Eyrie. According to her, all Arryns were supposed to throw a belonging of the deceased into the Weeping Woman's falling waters when an Arryn died. They were burying them instead of throwing it into the abbyss, but it still held a feeling of finality. And the children needed it.

* * *

_Vi,_

_Forgive the lack of formality and the length of this letter, but I thought it best that I relay this message as a husband would to a wife and not as a lord to his lady or as a king to his queen. Yes, a king to his queen. We received word today of my father's murder and immediately converged to discuss our next course of action._

_Some wish to pledge for Stannis and others for Renly. But the Greatjon had the idea that was most-liked. The Starks only bowed down to the dragons and those dragons are dead now, my love. I have been raised from Lord Stark to King Robb the First of His Name, with you as mine own queen. _

_Robb_

* * *

"Mama, look! We 'ave new dolls to play with!" Leila held out a cloth doll, dressed in an orange gown.

"It's beautiful, my sweet," Vitoria said, crouching down carefully. "Have you named her yet?"

Leila nodded enthusiastically and Vitoria asked, "What are you calling her?"

"Meria, like the warror 'een," her little daughter said, remember the tales her mother told her sometimes before bed. Her heart soared in pride.

"That's perfect," she said softly, reaching out to smooth Leila's hair. "So tell me, what adventures have Meria and Alia's new doll gotten into?"

"Vitoria, did you have to ask that at the same time I did?" Lexa said, sounding exasperated, as Leila and Alia launched into a tale of how Meria and Sera – Alia's doll, dressed in gray – had gone to a feast, and Artos's toy soldiers had come, and they all stayed up for the entire night because no one was allowed to tell them that they had to go to bed.

"Do you want to play now, Mama?" Alia asked hopefully. Vitoria looked over, intending to let her daughter down gently, to say that she actually had to leave, but one look at her daughter's big gray eyes and the words died in her throat.

* * *

Once more, the Northern forces completed their assault on the Lannister encampment and won. Robb walked through the aftermath of wounded men and horses crying out amongst the dead. Roose Bolton and a handful of other Northern soldiers followed behind them.

"Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours," Lord Bolton said to the soldiers following them. "They're dead. Take everything they've got. We've nowhere to keep all these prisoners. Barely enough food to feed our own."

Robb held out his hand to stop the men from moving. "We're not executing prisoners, Lord Bolton."

The man's smile froze on his lips. "Of course, your grace. The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to the Lannister King's plans."

"I doubt it," Robb replied. He remembered what Vitoria had taught him of the South and realized the plans were made too sloppily to be the work of the Old Lion. If anyone was making plans it was most likely Cersei Lannister, perhaps the Imp. If Tywin Lannister was making plans, he would be more careful than whatever it was these bought forces were doing.

"Well, we'll learn soon enough," Lord Bolton continues. "In my family, we say: A naked man has few secrets. A flayed man none. "

Robb frowned. "My great grandfather outlawed flaying in the North."

"We're not in the North," Lord Bolton countered.

"We're not torturing our prisoners. You forget that my sisters and my cousin are in King's Landing. They had no fear of taking my father's head. I shall not give them a reason to harm the girls."

"The high road's very pretty," Lord Bolton warned. "But you'll have a hard time marching your army down it."

"No, don't!" A cry interrupted Robb's conversation with Lord Bolton and the two turned to look and found a wounded Lannister soldier struggling as a tanned woman removed his bloodied tattered pants to reveal a severely wounded leg.

"The rot's set in," the woman said.

"No, don't! No, don't!" The woman tried to calm him, but the soldier would not listen.

"Please, don't! It'll get better. It doesn't even hurt."

"The rot will spread if we don't take the foot now," the woman cautioned.

"No, you can't!"

Robb approached the man and withheld a wince as he saw the extent of the injuries. He knelt down and got a better hold to keep the man down while the woman worked.

"Ser! Please, ser. I can't lose—"

"You'll die if she doesn't," Robb cautioned.

"I don't want to be a cripple, please!"

"My goodfather would be called a cripple by most," Robb said, thinking of what he had heard said of Doran Martell. "Yet he is still highly regarded."

"Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub," Lord Bolton said to the woman.

"Your men are not my men, my lord," she replied.

Rob held out the rag he used to clean his sword. "Put this in your mouth and lie down. You don't want to watch."

"No! You can't!"

"Bite on it," Robb ordered. "It's better than biting your own tongue, believe me."

His father always said he should look a man in the eye when they were beheaded, when it was on his own orders. So, he watched as the boy's foot was sawed off, barely holding it in as it came off.

* * *

Luna and Sansa have both bathed and just finished dressing when Joffrey, the Hound, and two Kingsguard arrive. Luna is wearing a gown of the darkest green she could find, and Sansa is wearing a lighter shade, and the swell of protectiveness she feels is such that the girl could almost be her own daughter. They might be cousins and she might only be a few years older, but Sansa is only just realizing the cruelty of the world, while she was exposed it young.

"Oh, good," Joffrey says, thin lips curling as he looks them up and down. Draco stands just beyond them, expression entirely stoic. "I was afraid we'd have to drag you out of bed, my betrothed." His tone implies that he would have rather enjoyed that. Sansa cringes away from him, backing into Luna, who stands firm and tense. She should have slit his throat with her hunting knife at the Ruby Ford. He was a monster then, and he is a monster now.

The king's green eyes narrow. "And where's the little wolf bitch?" He glances around as if expecting Arya to drop down from the ceiling and maul him. It is probably one of the wisest things he's ever done. Luna thinks.

"My cousin, the Lady Arya is still missing, my lord," Luna says, her tone meek and she hates herself for it, but it's the only way to remain alive. "I pray constantly that the gods return her to us safe."

"She's a savage," Joffrey snaps, "just like the rest of her traitor house." He eyes Sansa cruelly. "If your sister ever tries to strike me again, I'll take both her hands. She'll learn to obey. Just like you."

"Please, Your Grace," Sansa begins in a voice barely above a whisper, but Luna digs her fingers into the girl's shoulders, and she goes silent, bowing her head.

"I should have had your father flayed," Joffrey continues, "or torn apart by dogs or horses. You should be thanking me for giving him such a clean death, my lady. Your cousin will, won't she?" He looks directly at Luna, who does not flinch, and says in a voice entirely devoid of emotion, "My thanks, Your Grace."

Sansa has enough of Arya in her to whisper in open revulsion, "I hate you."

Luna freezes, Joffrey's expression grows even crueler, if that is possible, and he sneers, "My mother tells me it isn't fitting that a king should strike his wife. Good thing I'm not marrying your cousin. Ser Meryn." Sansa blanches in horror and clings to Luna, who barely has enough time to try to turn away before the knight is upon them, shoving Sansa out of the way with one hard push, and grabbing Luna by the hair.

She instinctively tries to rip away from his grasp, but he backhands her across the face. She staggers and nearly falls, and Draco rushes to her side. "Don't," Luna says thickly, wiping at the blood dripping from her ear, as he moves towards Trant. Joffrey is nearly smiling. Draco stops, reluctantly.

Sansa fell to the floor when Trant pushed her, and now she struggles to her feet, weeping openly once more. "Don't hurt her, I'm sorry, I won't say it again, I'm sorry Your Grace, please-,"

"Will you obey me now?" Joffrey asks.

"Yes," Sansa says fervently, grabbing Luna's hand with her own, "I swear I will, my lord." To Luna's shock, she moves in front of her as if to shield her from another blow, crying as she is.

"Your Grace," Joffrey says after a long moment. "You will address me as Your Grace. All of you. I shall look for you in court."

* * *

**This might be the last update for a while. Inspiration struck for the other Game of Thrones story I'm writing and I've been writing like crazy for it. I will try to continue writing for this story, at least until we reach the end of Part One since we are nearing it. Most likely, I will place it in a small hiatus when Part One ends, so I can get ahead in writing Part Two. **

**Here is an overview of my other Game of Thrones story:**

**Standing Outside The Fire**

**Face Claims: **Elieanora Arryn (Anna Popplewell); Elethea Arryn (Sarah Bolger); Olivier Arryn (William Moseley); Robert Baratheon (Clive Standen)

**Summary: **She was not meant to be remembered in history. She was the youngest daughter of a third son, meant to marry a low lord or a knight. Instead, she finds herself in the middle of the court since her youth and playing a significant role in the politics of Westeros.


	13. Chapter XII

**This chapter was hard to write, to say the least. I'm now realizing how few scenes there were in Winterfell, during Season 2. But…on the bright side, I have written some scenes for future chapters, so maybe the next one will come more quickly. **

**I am ****_so so _****sorry for the delay in getting this up. My muse has been going not only to the other ASOIAF story I mentioned in the last note, but also to a ****_White Queen_**** story. I will get to work on the next chapter as soon as possible to get it up quickly. **

* * *

_Part 1_

_she wore ice on her skin as diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

_Blood. There was so much blood. _

_Lexa could only watch in horror as Vitoria twisted in pain on the bed before her. Vitoria had done her duty as was expected of her by the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. She'd been declared with child not two moons after marrying Robb Stark and had given birth, to two beautiful little girls. The maester had declared her healthy and that it was safe for her to conceive and three moons after giving birth, Vitoria had been declared with child again, yet it was not meant to be. Before she had even had a chance to rise her child pains began, and her ladies had been in a panic since. Moments like these were times when Lexa wished Ellaria had not returned to Sunspear after the twins' birth. Lexa had expected to be at Starfall, visiting her uncle and cousin when Vitoria had her next child. Vitoria hadn't been lucky. Her leave of court had still been two or three months away, but apparently the Gods had another plan._

_"Rena, please fetch me another wet cloth. Hurry!" Lexa passed a blood soaked cloth to Luna as Rena passed her a fresh one._

_Arianne held Vitoria's hands, whispering encouragement. Her friend's shrill shrieks deafened Lexa to point where she found it hard to focus, causing her to rely more on Rena, the daughter of a midwife from the Eyrie._

_"I can take care of the princess, if I may," Rena murmured._

_Lexa gratefully nodded, and Rena took her place beside Vitoria. With another shriek from Vitoria, the babe was in Rena's hands, silent and male. Lexa put her hand over her mouth to hold in a scream of horror. Vitoria lay back, silent from pain. The room itself seemed to hold it's breath as Rena used a dry cloth to rub the body in an effort to revive the child. Lexa took the cloth from her and began rubbing the tiny babe's body herself._

_Rena shook her head. "It is no use," She whispered.. "he was born too early."_

_A cracked voice spoke. "Lexa, let me see my child."_

_Lexa sighed as she wrapped the child and picked him up in her arms. Vitoria sat up, with some assistance from Arianne and looked over the underdeveloped babe in Lexa's arms._

_Her dark eyes stared blankly at her child, and then at Lexa. "It was a boy? Wasn't it?"_

_"Aye, it was a boy, my lady." Lexa nodded._

_Vitoria spoke in Rhoynish so that only Lexa and Arianne would understand. "He is going to kill me. I lost a son. He is going to murder me."_

_Her voice cracked, and she broke out into a sob. Lexa could only watch helplessly as she cradled the babe in her arms. Having only spent five moons in his mother's womb, the babe was painfully small with some of its body not fully developed. _

_Lexa saw Arianne turn to her trusted second in command. "Rena, stay here and comfort Vitoria, the rest of the ladies and I will take care of everything else, understand?"_

_"Yes, my lady," Rena curtsied and then hurried to Vitoria's side._

_Lexa stood and watched at Rena put her arms around Vitoria, whispering gently to her before turning to the rest._

_"The rest of you, follow me." Arianne led the ladies to the door and nodded to Lexa to open it for her. Lexa could only walk a few more paces with the dead child before she saw the worst person to appear walking down the corridor: Theon Greyjoy and Robb Stark._

_"Of all the moments he could have chosen to come," Luna whispered._

_Lexa turned back to nod at the young niece of Lady Stark. She led the curtsy as Robb grew closer._

_"My lord," they chorused and rose to stand._

_Robb's face was dark as he drew closer to Lexa. "I was informed that my wife gave birth to a child this morning."_

_"She did, my lord," Lexa nodded._

_"How is she?" His blue eyes held fear in them._

_Lexa sighed. "She is well, distraught but well."_

_Lexa tried to walk around him, but he blocked her path. "Was the child a son or a daughter?"_

_Lexa gulped as she showed Robb the babe. "It was a son. I suggest that you leave your wife alone for a while, she is not in the best spirit to see."_

_"I must make sure she is alright, she is my wife." He protested._

_"My lord, she is quite depressed. I know you wish to see her, but you must allow her to grieve alone." Arianne chirped before Lexa could respond again._

_"Princess Arianne is correct, Vitoria is not quite herself at the moment." She added._

_"I do not care about that, I should be there to comfort her. It is my duty as a husband." Robb took a step towards the chamber door._

_"My lord, please. You will send her into a frenzy." Lexa was now blocking the king._

_Robb frowned. "Lexa, you will allow me to see my wife or I shall order you too,"_

_Arianne nodded to Lexa and she relented._

_"Yes, my lord." Lexa stepped aside and allowed for Robb to enter the room._

_Luna glanced at Arianne and Lexa with fear. "Are you sure that the princess will not-"_

_Her statement went unfinished due to screams of terror that could heard from the queen's bedchamber. Arianne placed the dead child in Luna's arms, grabbed Lexa's arm, and ran into Vitoria's chamber._

_"Take the child to be buried!" Lexa called to Luna over her shoulder and burst through the door._

_Rena was still sitting on the bed, her head turned away from the entrance, instead facing the princess. Vitoria was standing in the corner, screaming as Robb tried to approach her. "I am so sorry, please, please leave me!"_

_"My love, what causes you to react this way?" He took another step forward._

_Vitoria sunk to her knees. "Do not kill me. I do not know why the gods took the son from my womb. Please…"_

_She began to sob violently and Arianne looked back at Lexa who only shook her head, appearing shocked by the entire scene._

_Robb looked confused. "I am not going to kill you. I only wanted to comfort you, my dear."_

_"No," Vitoria shook head. "you are going to kill me for losing a son!"_

_Robb got down on his knees and looked Vitoria in her eyes. "I do not care that you lost a child. I am only thankful that you are still alive."_

_Rena turned around and smiled at Lexa, clearly enchanted by Robb's care for his wife._

_Arianne motioned for her to join her and Lexa near the chamber door. "Go find Luna and make sure the child has been buried."_

_They curtsied. "Yes, my lady,"_

_Arianne could hear the door close behind her as the ladies followed her orders. She was watching as Robb helped a whimpering Vitoria to her feet._

_He cupped her face with his hand."I love thee. I adore thee. What would give you the slightest inclination that I would commit such a terrible act against you, my love?"_

_"I fear," Vitoria began._

_"Do not fear," Robb interjected. "I told you not to fear anything while I am alive. You have nothing to fear, for you have my love."_

* * *

Theon had hated the Starks at first. He hated that his older brothers were dead and hated that he had to leave his home to be in the North. He could still remember his mother crying out for him as he sailed away on a Northern ship.

He had hated the North, but he had hated the Starks most of all.

He wasn't part of them, no matter how much Lord Stark tried to make him feel as though the North had always been his home. He would admit that over time, he did feel as though it was his home. But he had still resented the Starks wishing he were one of them, instead of their ward. He wanted to be a Stark and not their glorified hostage.

It wasn't Lord Stark who made him feel like one of them though. No, that had been Arya and Vitoria.

It had been his seventeenth nameday.

It was a small affair, he wasn't a Stark so he didn't get a big feast like the others. He had gotten one that past year when he turned sixteen, but he didn't make a great deal out of his nameday anyway.

His seventeenth nameday came and he expected the usual small trinkets from the Stark children and perhaps some new shirt from Lady Stark and a practice sword from Lord Stark. He hadn't expected Arya's gift.

She had given him a sloppily sewed handkerchief with a grey direwolf on it. It was well made, considering she had been eight at the time and despised needlework. He had liked it, although he told her sweetly that a kraken would have been better.

"Why?" she had asked him.

Theon had tried explaining to her that he wasn't a Stark, but a Greyjoy, so his sigil was a kraken, not a direwolf.

"But you're my brother," she had said in exasperation.

"I'm not, though," he told her.

This had apparently been the wrong thing to say as Arya had begun to cry and ran to her brother's room about Theon lying and being mean by telling her that he wasn't her brother. Robb had tried to explain that Theon's parents were in Pyke, although it was difficult for him to explain why Theon was there.

Arya had just kicked and screamed, which was usual for her, and demanded that Theon was her brother and that he was a Stark just like the rest of them. Her reasoning was that Vitoria had lived in Dorne her whole life, but she was a Stark. Hearing that, Vitoria had taken the girl into her arms and sent Robb away, telling him she'd handle it and not to tell his parents.

One of the twins started crying while Vitoria calmed Arya's tears and by the time Vitoria had managed to disentangle Arya from her body, Theon had already taken the babe into his arms and calmed her down. He set her down next to her sister in their crib and looked up to see Vitoria smiling at him, while she brushed Arya's hair, the girl having fallen asleep due to her tears.

Vitoria had simply told him he could go and that she would see that Arya returned to her rooms when she woke. That night, Lord Stark had pulled him aside, apologizing for Arya. But that's when Theon admitted it.

He did want to be a Stark. He could hardly remember the Greyjoys save for his mother's crying, but that was it. The word home brought images of Winterfell and the word family brought images of the Starks.

He wanted to be a Stark and he was, in every way but blood.

* * *

They received a letter from Joffrey Baratheon. The letter was addressed to Bran, Rickon and her children and Vitoria never felt so much rage towards a person she barely knew. However, such anger could never be abated considering what the man had done to their family.

_Lord Stark,_

"Prince Brandon," Vitoria corrected, ruffling Rickon's hair.

_By order of your king, you are to bend the knee to me and I shall grant you the title of Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Your brother is in open rebellion against the crown, but I shall not hold that against you, should you make the right choice._

_Your king,_

_Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name_

Fury filled her as the words registered in her mind. He was offering the title to Bran or Rickon, bypassing her children despite the laws of succession he held to being clear.

"He's truly mad," Maester Luwin said, shaking his head.

"He's foolish to think that a wolf would betray one of its own," she said, shaking her head, her hand falling protectively over her stomach, despite her words. "Our bonds are greater than most. You children are Stark and Tully both. Mine own are wolf and sun. We are united through the cold of winter and the heat of the desert. A lion has nothing but it's pride. I doubt he could possibly understand such things."

"What shall you say in your reply, Bran?" Lexa asked.

"Write to him and say that we know no king, but the King in the North whose name is Stark," Rickon announced, making her glow with pride even as she saw Bran's face darken.

"Oh," Alia exclaimed. "And we all sign it as princesses and princes!"

* * *

Robb looked over and saw the healer woman from a few days earlier readying a cart with a wounded soldier. She looked exhausted. She had been so full of resolve earlier, but she looked exhausted now, as though the events of the day had finally caught up to her.

"What's your name?" Robb asked as he approached her.

"Talisa," she replied. It was a pretty name.

"Your house name?"

"You wish to know what side my family fights on?" She asked.

"You know my family name," he replied. "I find you are at an advantage over me."

"That boy lost his foot on your orders," she said, changing the subject.

"They killed my father and holds my cousin and sisters hostage," he replied, trying not to let his thoughts wander off to how they were doing. Sansa would be pliable, she had always been a lady, but she would be scared. Luna would do what she needed to survive, his cousin had instincts not found in many women and that was the reason Vitoria had taken her on as a companion. Arya worried him, she would not know which lines to cross and that could very well mean she would lose her life as well.

"That boy did?"

"The family he fights for."

"Do you think he's friends with King Joffrey?" She reasoned. "He's a fisherman's son that grew up near Lannisport. He probably never held a spear before they shoved one in his hands a few months ago."

"I have no hatred for the lad."

"That should help his foot grow back," Talisa scoffed. She began to walk away in frustration, carrying away a pail.

"Perhaps you could see it back on. He might have lost it because of me, but you were the one to make the final cut."

"It was unnecessary," she continued.

"You'd have us surrender, end all this bloodshed. I understand. The country would be at peace and life would be just under the righteous hand of good King Joffrey."

"You're going to kill Joffrey?"

"He's not the rightful king and he murdered my father and seeks to force my sister to marry him. I will take his head if the gods give me strength."

"And then what?"

"I go back home. I go back to Winterfell and try to be the man my father wanted me to be. I have no desire to sit on the Iron Throne."

"So who will?"

"Daenerys Targaeryen or one of the many bastards of King Robert if his brothers do not survive the war." He and Vitoria had briefly discussed this before he left. She had insisted on restoring the dragons to the throne, while he thought Stannis should be the king, which she countered saying would end in disaster considering his sense of honor and duty were well known and they would not serve him well in a place such as King's Landing. He had left before they would resolve the matter.

"And where is the dragon princess?"

"I don't know."

"You're fighting to overthrow a king and yet you have no plan for after?"

"First we have to win the war."

Still obviously frustrated at him, Talisa climbed into the horse drawn cart and signaled for the driver to start off.

"You never told me where you're from," he said.

"Volantis," she replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. If he remembered correctly, most in Volantis had Valyrian features. Talisa, with her olive skin and dark hair and eyes did not fit that criteria.

"You're far from home, then," he said. "The boy was lucky you were here."

She gave him a small smile. His heart stuttered in his chest at the sight. "He was unlucky that you were."

Their eyes never left each other as the cart took her further away.


	14. Chapter XIII

**I wanted to just leave it here, because I can't remember if I've said this. Worst case, scenario, I say this for the second time. **

**I'm using a mix of the book and show timeline. In the books, around 3 years have passed between the 5 books. In the show, each season represented one year. I'm not having each season be a year, but it won't be as little time as it is in the books.**

**I also wanted to say this, as a slight warning. I'm considering re-writing the story. If I do decide to go down that route, I think I'd post a sort of epilogue so you can at least know how this story ends before deleting it once the new story is up. I have thought of a name, a change in her face claim and how to expand on Vitoria's backstory. I feel I made a mistake jumping directly into show-canon and I want to fix it and the flashbacks aren't cutting it**

* * *

_Part 1_

_She wore ice on her skin like diamonds while the heat in her veins kept her from freezing_

* * *

"I've yielded Winterfell to Theon."

"Louder. Say Prince Theon."

"I've yielded Winterfell to Prince Theon."

Theon stepped forward. "You all know me," he called over the murmurs of the crowds.

Whatever he was to say next was cut off by a man in the crowd. "Aye, we know you for steaming sack of shit."

"Farlen, you be silent," Bran cut in. Theon started towards the man.

"Listen to your little lord, Farlen," he said, with just enough haughtiness that Vitoria wanted to punch him in the nose with all the strength she could muster. But she remained behind Bran with Benjen in her arms and her shawl drawn over her head. "He has more sense than you do!"

"All of you should do as he commands," Bran continued.

"My father has donned the ancient crown of salt and rock, and declared himself King of the Iron Islands! He claims the North as well by right of conquest. You are all his subjects -"

"Bugger that!" Farlen spoke up again, staring at Theon with disgust. "If you think you can hold the North with this -"

An Ironborn soldier came from behind and hit Farlen over the head. Vitoria gave a sharp intake of breath, holding her baby closer to her chest. Farlen's daughter went to her knees to help her father.

"If you serve me as loyally as you served Ned Stark, I will be as good to you as he ever was! Betray me," he warned, "and you'll wish you hadn't."

"And the Queen?" another asked, pointing at Vitoria almost accusingly. Her head snapped up. "What has she to say of this?"

Vitoria looked from Theon, who stared at her with a warning clear in his eyes, to her son, sleeping in her arms and unaware of the events around him, to the citizen who pointed at her still.

"We will yield Winterfell to the Ironborn," she agreed, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Theon gave her a smug smile, before turning around. "Maester Luwin! Send a raven to Pyke informing my father of my victory here, and one to Deepwood Motte to my sister. Inform her that she's to bring 500 men to camp two miles from Winterfell." When Maester Luwin made no move to go, Theon turned to face him fully. "You are a Maester of the citadel, sworn to serve the Lord of Winterfell, are you not?"

"I am."

"I am the Lord of Winterfell, as Bran just informed you. Send the ravens."

The Maester looked in the eye, before nodding his head just slightly. "My Lord."

Vitoria was startled when Osha spoke up, and moved to address Theon. She felt the surge of fury burn in her chest when the wild woman offered her services to the traitor.

"Get up," Theon spat, and pushed her roughly away. "Step aside!"

"Why?" Bran asked softly when she came near enough to hear.

"It's your dream, little lord," she responded lowly. "The ocean has come to swallow this place. I ain't lettin' it drown me."

Vitoria wanted to be so mad, she knew she should, but the first thing she could think was that perhaps now she might have to do unthinkable things to keep herself and her family safe. Even offering herself to Theon.

"Greyjoy!" a great roar came up from the gates, and Vitoria felt her heart drop when she saw Rodrik being led by two Ironborn into the courtyard. Theon approached him.

"We caught this one on his way back from Torrhen's Square," one of the brutes spat. "He took out two of ours before we got his sword."

"Ser Rodrik," Theon said, "it grieves me that we meet as foes."

"It grieves me that you've less honor than a back alley whore!" Rodrik barked. "You were raised here, under this roof! These people are your people -"

"They are not my people," Theon said sharply.

"King Robb thought of you as a brother!"

"My brothers are dead. They died fighting Stark men – men like you!"

The conversation continued in lower tones, ones Vitoria couldn't hear. She felt sick to her stomach, holding her daughters close to her skirts.

"You've served this house faithfully, old man," Theon began in a warning tone. "But keep talking, and I'll -"

He went silent when Rodrik spit in his face. The Ironborn hit Rodrik over the head and wrestled him to the ground as Theon recoiled.

"Take him to the cells! Lock him up -"

"My Prince!" an Ironborn called. He spoke to Theon in low tones, apparently trying to convince him of something. Vitoria felt her heart beating wildly in the silence of the courtyard.

The silence seemed to last a million years, and then Theon's voice came crashing down. "Ser Rodrik, I sentence you to death!"

"No!" Bran cried. Maester Luwin immediately moved away from them and began to approach Theon. "You said no harm would come to them if I yielded!"

"The old man wouldn't keep his mouth shut," Theon defended harshly. Luwin had reached him, now, and was trying to make him see reason – but there was no changing Theon's mind.

Rickon turned to her, tugging at her gown and staring up at her with fear in his eyes. She pulled him close to her side, attempting to sooth him as best she could.

"Theon, see reason!" Lexa called, voice thick with pain, but it went unheard.

The Ironborn brutes began to force Rodrik to the center of the courtyard. Rickon cried out but Osha pulled him back, keeping him firm between her and Vitoria. Bran was begging, pleading with Theon with despair in his voice. Luwin returned to them, pulling Rickon close to his side.

"Theon, you gave your word!" Vitoria cried, reaching for Bran and urging him to close his eyes. "Bran, please -"

"Stop! Stop right now!"

"You don't give commands anymore, little lord," Theon called, looking up briefly to meet their eyes as his sword hung inches above Rodrik's neck.

"Hush now, child." Rodrik's voice cut through Bran's pleas and effectively silenced him. Even on his knees with a sword at his neck, the old soldier's voice was without a trace of fear. "I'm off to see your father."

"Bran, look away," Vitoria pleaded, tugging on his hand.

"You said no harm would come!" Bran's voice broke. "You said no harm would come! Theon, please! Theon, please don't!"

"Do something," she heard Rickon whine, his face buried in the Maester's side. Vitoria's cheeks were wet. She tugged on Bran's hand again.

"Look away," she begged. "Bran – please."

"I'll do anything, please – no please stop it - !" But Bran's cry came even as Theon lowered his sword upon Rodrik's neck. If Vitoria had wanted to close her eyes, she couldn't now, and even if she could, the image of Theon's sword slicing through Rodrik's neck was forever in her mind.

* * *

Theon dragged her up the stairs roughly and pulled her towards her rooms — the rooms she had shared with Robb — as she struggled vainly against his hold. He paid no mind to the fight she was putting up, dragging her inside her chambers.

For a moment they both stood still, just staring at one another and then he went at her, his hands tearing at her woolen dress as she tried to resist his assault. She cried out as the sleeve of her dress was ripped away by his hands, but he ignored her, pushing her roughly onto the bed. As soon as she landed, she twisted her body and landed a kick to his chest, crawling away from him but he grabbed her by the legs and pulled her back, throwing his own weight on top of so she was pinned in place.

"… Please Theon …" Vitoria cried out, as he pulled her legs apart underneath him and forced his body between them. "Theon don't do this!" She screamed at the feeling of his hands pulling at her dress again, trying to squirm free of him but it was no use. She could do nothing but scream and shout and beg him to take his hands off her body.

"Forgive me, Vitoria," he whispered into her ear, "I had to do it, they followed us up … I had to make them believe it was real, they have to trust me," he continued urgently, his voice barely audible. Relief flooded through her body and she sobbed harder.

"I am sorry for this too," Theon said quietly as he dabbed at her forehead with a wet rag.

"What have you done?"

"Robb told me to get ships," he said.

"So you decided to take Winterfell?" She questioned, her voice rising. They asked him to get ships and he attacked Winterfell, the place he had grown up in, the place he had learned to fight in, where he had taught both Bran and Arya to shoot arrows.

"Please … keep your voice down," Theon hushed, looking towards the door, "they have to believe I am on their side or my plan will never work."

"Oh so you have a plan then?" She asked sarcastically, venom in her voice.

"I can get Robb ships and rid myself of my father with one move," he told me.

Vitoria scoffed. "What move?"

"You aren't stupid, Vi, your men outnumber mine, I only need time to inform them of that."

"And then you will turn on your own people?"

"My people are here," he said with finality.

"Then you cannot risk them," she said shaking my head.

"Winterfell will win!" he tried to assure her.

"At what cost?" I asked, "Men will die, perhaps women and children too, I cannot let you do this"

"Then what would you have me do?" he asked desperately.

"Send them to the Dreadfort or Barowtown," she answered after a moment.

"I don't understand," Theon frowned, "People would die there as well."

"It is different," she started explaining. "Lady Dustin never forgave Lord Stark for her husband's death. She barely sent any men. Barrowtown is protected. And Lord Bolton would never leave his lands undefended. He wants Winterfell. Attack the Dreadfort and we eliminate men who could fight against us. Attack Barrowton and there will be men waiting and ready."


	15. Chapter XIV

_Part 2_

_her eyes were sparkling, like the snow that fell in his home. she was dangerous, lethal, yet so irresistible._

* * *

"And how do you answer, Lady Stark, for your brother's latest treasons?"

Sansa stares, blood feeling like tea in her veins, at the crossbow Joffrey points at her. With the slight press of his fingers she could be dead and placed next to her father's skull. Distantly, she feels her heart hammering in her chest, but can't be bothered to truly concern herself with it.

"Please, your Grace," she cries, "whatever my traitor brother has done, I had nothing to do with it!"

She senses Draco shift in his heavy armor behind her. They had learned, with great difficulty, that he is able to intervene very little in these punishments the king so enjoys doling out. If the king is not personally present, Draco never allows anyone to raise a hand to her. This has saved her from the likes of Meryn Trant more often than not; but if the King is watching, Draco must allow some blows to land, else they risk Draco's head as well and then she'll be truly alone. Luna is gone and she imagines her cousin is dead for challenging Joffrey sometime or other. Draco is all she has of home now, even if he is of the East. Still, she knows how he rages each time, when he carries her back to her quarters and glimpses the bruises under her gowns.

"Your brother slaughtered an army of Lannister men; the Northerners then fed their remains to wolves, and slurped the marrow of their bones themselves!"

Sansa knows there is no cannibalism in the North, only the rumors of Skagos, but she stays silent. She thinks of the way her body used to ache when Vitoria trained her to use a dagger, and how she would love to have one in her person at the moment, so she could present Joffrey's body to her brother when he marches on King's Landing.

"Killing you would send your brother a message, but my mother insists on keeping you alive," Joffrey scoffs. "Stand."

Sansa climbs to her feet, careful not to trip on the long sleeves of her gown. Luna had made it for her, silver with white and blue. It's not enough for her to be in danger simply for wearing it even if the silver borders on Stark grey, she can claim the white is for her purity and that the blue contrasted nicely with her hair.

"There are other ways of sending your brother a message. Meryn," Joffrey calls, and Sansa feels her stomach begin to flip. "Leave her face. I like her pretty."

Meryn slams a fist into her stomach before she has time to process the man moving; Sansa doubles over and is quite pleased with herself when she doesn't vomit. He removes his sword and knocks her to her knees again, and she wonders briefly what the point of having her stand at all was. She knows Draco is shifting, hand on his sword, and briefly she turns her head to seek out his eyes. He's the only one in court that never looks away from her pain.

He mouths something to her that she doesn't have time to make out before Joffrey says, "My lady is overdressed."

Of course, of course. She won't be able to keep her silvery Stark armor. Meryn grips the back of her dress so tightly the hem cuts into her collar bones and rips it from her shoulders. Desperately, she grabs at the front in an attempt to preserve her modesty, but one sleeve falls and exposes her entire back to the man's sword.

She feels a slice rather than a blow as Meryn's sword lands at the wrong angle, and then something wet; blood pools and stains the bottom of her dress.

Somewhere far away, a voice calls out, "What is the meaning of this?!"

Sansa tries valiantly to return to herself, but cannot. She knows she's gasping in air too quickly; through the blur of tears, she watches as Tyrion Lannister makes his way toward his nephew and the Iron Throne. He says something else, and then Draco is there, folding his thick cloak about her shoulders like a blanket.

"Ser Draco, why do you continue to serve Lady Stark? Her headless father cannot pay you."

"Lord Draco may only ever serve Sansa Stark because he is her sworn shield. He swore an oath before the gods," Tyrion reminds Joffrey, and even the bloodlust inside of him is no match for the sudden titterings of the court. No one, not even the king, is beyond the laws of the Seven, and Joffrey knows it.

She stands shakily, but attempts to keep her head high, as her lady mother would be proud. When she is dismissed, Draco reaches out an arm, as gallant as any true knight, and she folds hers through his elbow, leaning heavily against him. Tyrion follows them out, along with her lady maids who she knows are Cersei's spies.

"Tell me truly, my lady; do you wish an end to this engagement?" Tyrion asks.

Sansa thinks of Winterfell's small Sept, breathes in Draco's scent next to her, the only thing that connects her joyful past to her painful present.

"I am loyal to King Joffrey, my one true love."

* * *

Stepping out of the tunnel, Vitoria sighed in relief moving into the light and taking in where they were; they were definitely outside of Winterfell and she was glad Robb had told her about the tunnels after losing Torrhen. Emmett stood a little away from the entrance with the three horses prepared for the trip and Rena.

Despite Theon showing himself as an ally, she could not stay at the castle. It was swarmed with the Ironborn and she, at the very least, needed to protect her children as well as Bran and Rickon.

"We must move quickly, the last thing we need is the Ironborn catching us," Andrei insisted eyeing the small group, it wasn't going to be an easy task and he could only hope that the Ironborn didn't work out quickly that they were no longer in Winterfell. He could only hope the maester had managed to get Bran out through another way and that Vaith would be able to survive the coming months.

Vitoria nodded, turning around to wrap Artos to her chest with Lexa's offered shawl, trying to keep her tears at bay, Emmett crouched down so she could use his hands as a boost to settle on her saddle, before lifting Rickon in front of her, the boy resting awkwardly against his nephew.

It would be a long trip to the Westerlands where Robb was stationed with his army for the seven of them, with four direwolves at their back.

* * *

She was playing cards with Robb when the news of Theon Greyjoy's siege of Winterfell reached the Northern camp. Talisa sat there, hovering between wishing to remain to offer Robb support and needing to flee, not wanting to think about the children Robb lovingly described being beheaded by their foster brother. She did not want to remember the words of the envoy. She did not want to think about Vitoria Martell and how her death mirrored her aunt Elia's. How her babe was ripped from her womb before she was raped with her child's blood smeared across her body. This was the reality of war and she wanted nothing to do with it.

She thought Rollen meeting the same end, and vomit rose in her throat.

"Leave me," Robb rasped to his men, and Talisa rose as well, tears starting to shimmer in her eyes for the children she did not know – would never know – and what this war was bringing to Westeros.

"Talisa," he choked out, and she froze, startled by the sight of tears on Robb's face. "Talisa, will you stay?"

"Of course."

She knew it was not proper to climb onto the bed to sit beside him, but Talisa had never experienced grief like this before; she hoped to never experience this sort of grief. Robb clung to her as he sobbed, his entire body shaking from sorrow, and Talisa found herself crying along with him, whispering nonsense in pointless attempts to soothe, rocking him as if he was as small as his murdered daughters and not the King in the North. His grip upon her was tight, and Talisa tried to hold him back just as tightly, wanting to offer Robb something solid to hold onto.

"I'm here," she murmured, carding her fingers through his dark curls. "I'm here, I'm here, it will be alright."

It was a lie; Talisa knew it may never be alright again, but Robb Stark needed a kind lie in that moment.

The heat of his mouth against hers startled Talisa to the core. She had exchanged brief kisses with a few boys in her youth, but no one had ever kissed her like this. Robb's mouth tasted vaguely of the ale they had shared earlier in the day and the salt from his tears, and, for a moment, Talisa let herself be kissed without responding, trying to puzzle out everything which was happening.

"Talisa," Robb whispered, half-plea and half-awe, and Talisa wondered if anyone else would ever say her name like that again, if, Robb Stark had said his wife's name like that.


	16. Chapter XV

_Part 2_

_her eyes were sparkling, like the snow that fell in his home. she was dangerous, lethal, yet so irresistible._

* * *

"I say we are making good time," Lexa mused when they stopped to make camp that night, the last couple of weeks had not been an easy trip on them but they were slowly making their way to Robb's camp. It certainly wasn't an easy trip on Vitoria, who was entering some troublesome weeks of her pregnancy and they were hopeful that they would reach the Northern army camp before she gave birth.

Rena helped her sit down, she was pleased that they had made it so far away from Winterfell. They had been traveling non-stop since they had left the castle behind and they had been lucky enough not to run into anyone, especially bandits that might be on the road.

They had very little with them and Emmett had done his best to make sure they had enough to travel with; there had been little time to prepare and they were avoiding major settlements not wishing to attract any attention. Vitoria was Queen in the North and people would likely whisper if they saw her traveling; it would attract attention that they didn't need right now. She'd be rather easy to recognize, considering her features were not common so far North.

Everyone was distracted by the war that was going on and she knew they were all thankful for that. It meant that no one was really looking for them instead they were focused on the fighting that was going on. Vitoria looked over at Alia who was already sleeping, between Artos and Leila. She was relieved that her children were with her. Looking at Rickon, who was in Rena's arms as she hummed him a lullaby, she only regretted not pushing for them to wait for Bran, so he could come with them.

* * *

"You've been quiet recently," Talisa murmured walking alongside Robb, she had travelled along with him to the Crag to collect supplies to relax those that she had already used. It had been hard keeping away from Robb while he grieved for his wife but Talisa knew that it was for the best, he wasn't in a good place and she didn't blame him for being so upset about all of this. Their night together had been a one-off, he had been in his cups and sought comfort in the arms of a woman. She knew he blamed himself for it, for betraying Vitoria's memory before she was deep in the ground and she was understanding of it.

Things had not been easy since the news of the attack on Winterfell arrived and they had gotten worse with Walder Frey attempting to convince Robb to marry one of his daughters in exchange for his continued help in the war. The Lord of the Crossing wanted to see one of his daughters become Queen in the North and that could only happen if Robb agreed to marry one of them. Privately, she did think he would need to remarry before the war ended. His four children — born and unborn —and his brothers had been killed, no one knew where his youngest sister was and that left him and his sister who was a Lannister hostage as the only way to carry on the Stark line.

"There is a lot on my mind," Robb replied not saying much, he had so much going on and he wished that there was some way that he could speak with Vitoria. He had never thought that this was how their marriage would work out and it hurt Robb that he hadn't been there to protect her from Theon but he hadn't been and now he had to deal with that.

Talisa nodded her head, she could see that Robb had loved his wife very much and she was a little jealous that he'd never feel like that for her.

"Your wife must have been a great woman," Talisa mused not knowing much about the late Queen, she was an outsider in camp and she only continued to travel with the Northern army because of Robb. He had been so kind to her since they had first met and Talisa had become fond of him; she would have even considered seeking more from him but she did not wish to insult the memory of his late wife. There was no denying that Robb still grieved for her, he must have loved her greatly.

"She was… she was kind, very loving… just the Queen that the North needed in this war," Robb said smiling, thinking about Vitoria and he could think of nothing bad about her in the moment. She was everything that he had ever wanted in a wife, everything he had needed. It was the reason that he refused to even consider marrying one of Frey's many daughters, he would not dishonour Vitoria in such away when she had barely been dead a month. "Vi was her father's daughter through and through. She was sharp-witted, clever, beautiful. I loved her…and I think I never told her enough."

His focus was on making the people responsible for everything that had happened to his family pay for it; he would make sure that Theon suffered for ending the lives of his wife and unborn child. Talisa swallowed thickly, it was hard for her to listen to him talk about Vitoria in such a way but it did make her decision not to act on her feelings even stronger. She had to get them under control before she did something she would regret later on.

Before she could say anything a rider approached the two while they were walking, she blinked trying to hide her disappointment that they had been interrupted; she ducked her head knowing that it was wrong for her to think such thoughts.

"What is it?" Robb asked staring at the rider, he was surprised that they had been interrupted; they weren't along with guards around them but he liked the peace and quiet. The rider shifted nervously.

"Jaime Lannister has escaped," he revealed, making Robb stare at him, this could not have come at a worse time and he knew that his men would not react well to the news that their hostage had escaped and lost them their advantage.

* * *

"What do you think Robb is doing, now?" whispered Rickon, sitting in Vitoria's, lap as she rocked him softly. Vitoria ran gentle fingers through his curls, shifting so he could lean against her side and not her belly. He felt her rest her head against his.

"I don't know," she replied, at last. "Maybe he's fighting or the camp is moving. What do you think he's doing?"

"Fighting," decided Rickon, nodding. "I wish I could fight with him."

Vitoria's warm arms wound around him and pulled him close into a hug. "I know, Rickon, I know," she replied. "When you're older."

Wriggling in her embrace, Rickon turned to face her, found her face wet with tears. Thoughtlessly he reached up to touch them, watched a salty bead run down his finger. "Don't cry, Vi."

She smiled, sadly, and nodded, resting her brow against his own. "My brave boy," he whispered. "My own sweet one. You know, your Papa would be proud of you, so proud."

Rickon felt a wave of seriousness wash over him, his heart felt larger and warmer. "You think so?"

Vitoria nodded. "I know so. He would be very proud."

"Is he looking down from Valhalla, Vitoria? He'd know what to do, wouldn't he? He'd know."

Vitoria tilted her head, brushed affectionate fingers through his hair. "He is," she responded, nodding. Her amber eyes were sure, despite the tears that she had so recently shed. "I think he's waiting for us, even now. And when we die, if we're very good, we'll see him again in the halls of the gods."

Rickon leaned against her, resting his head on her shoulder. "I miss him."

* * *

"Tell me this isn't true," Robb said staring at his mother, he didn't want to believe for a moment that she was the reason that Jaime Lannister had escaped; it ruined everything and his men were far from happy.

"Why?" Robb asked wanting answers when Catelyn stopped what she was doing, she didn't look at him and he was so angry with her right now. It had changed everything and Robb could only imagine what was going to happen now, things were changing and not in a good way; his men were furious and were calling his mother a traitor for her actions.

"For the girls," Catelyn said quietly thinking back to her talk with Petyr, he had promised her that if she released Jaime Lannister then he would ensure that Sansa and Arya would be returned to her. Catelyn wanted nothing more than to have her children back, she hated that things had become so difficult and she just wanted to ensure that she was able to protect them better. Her young boys were already lost to her. She would never be able to brush her granddaughter's hair again or see Artos achieve something new either. She would do anything to have her daughters back.

"You betrayed me," Robb stated with a shake of his head, he could not believe this and he had never thought that his own mother would do such a thing behind his back. This war was not just about getting his sisters back and with her actions, Catelyn had weakened their position; this was the last thing that Robb needed right now.

Robb wished his mother would think things through carefully, this wasn't the first time that she had acted and that it had backfired on her; she had captured Tyrion Lannister months ago and it had resulted in his father being attacked.

"Robb..." Catelyn pleaded wanting him to listen to her, she had done what she thought was best and she wasn't going to change her mind. It pained her that she'd been forced to do this without his knowledge but he would have never agreed and he was blinded by the fact that he had lost his wife several weeks ago.

"Bran and Rickon are dead in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King's Landing. I have five children, and only one of them is free," Catelyn pleaded wanting Robb to see her side of things, she had done this for his sisters who they were still fighting to get back. Sansa was a prisoner of the Queen. While there had been no word of Arya, Petyr had reassured her when he had returned Ned's body that she was safe as well.

"I lost one son fighting by your son's side. I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain. You committed a treason, because your daughters are prisoners? I know the pain of losing a child my lady. Two sons dead fighting made sure of it. But you…" Karstark shook his head. "You had five children and three are alive. I would carve out my heart and offer it to the Father, if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell," he spat.

"I grieve for your sons, My Lord..." Catelyn started knowing that if they were to see her side of things then maybe they would understand why she had acted when she had; there had been no way that Jaime Lannister would have survived the night here. The men had been angry and drunk, something that had left Jaime in a very dangerous position and Catelyn knew that everything would have been lost of Jaime was killed during the night.

"I don't want your grief. I want my vengeance. And you stole it from me!" Rickard snarled furiously, nothing would take away what he had lost and he knew that Catelyn had crossed a line with her actions. It had been hard enough to catch the Lannister and hold him hostage for months on end without the Lannister army breaking him free; everything had been for nothing now and Catelyn was to blame for that now that she had lost them Jaime Lannister.

"Killing Jaime Lannister would not buy life to your children. But returning him to King's Landing may buy life for mine," Catelyn explained gravely.

The war was dragging on and Catelyn feared that if she had left things like it was that it could be years before she saw Sansa or Arya again; she wanted them safe and that could only happen by what she had done.

"Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool. You have weakened our position; you brought discord into our camp; and you did all behind my back," Robb stated firmly, he couldn't believe that his mother thought that her plan would work in anyway. Catelyn stared at him, her heart breaking at the fact that he thought that she had messed everything up; she had done what she thought was right and she stood by her decision.

"Make sure she's guarded day and night!" Robb ordered turning away and storming out of the tent, he didn't have time for this and they needed to find Jaime Lannister before things got completely out of hand.


	17. Chapter XVI

_Part 2_

_her eyes were sparkling, like the snow that fell in his home. she was dangerous, lethal, yet so irresistible._

* * *

"Oh," Vitoria gasped, clutching her stomach. She opened and closed her mouth for a moment trying to wrap her head around the fact that this was actually happening; the cramps had surprised her as she held onto the swell of her stomach, her other hand clutching the reins tightly.

Rickon looked up as their horse stopped on its tracks, he tilted his head curious as to why she had made it. He shifted his body until he could look at his good-sister.

"Vi?" Rickon asked curiously, he was counting down the days until the baby was born and he did hope that they would see Robb before that happened. He remembered when Artos was born, he had been very scared when he heard Vitoria screaming and for that reason, he had not been able to forget it. No, the baby would have to wait a bit more before coming. They definitely needed Robb for that. They had been on the road for weeks now and Rickon had done his best to be brave like his brother would want him to be; he missed his siblings and his mother.

There was no sign of Bran joining them and Rickon had no idea what had happened to him after they had left Winterfell; Maester Luwin had promised to help him escape and he hoped that it had worked.

"Baby is just kicking very hard," Vitoria said reassuring the four-year-old, he didn't need to know that she thought she was actually going into labour at that moment. The last thing that Vitoria wanted was to scar him for life, she couldn't imagine how much longer they had to travel and her pains weren't regular enough to cause them any real worry, in any case.

"We need to keep moving," Emmett insisted wanting to keep moving, he was sure that they could travel a bit longer before they needed to set up camp for the night.

* * *

_Nearly two days had passed since a serving maid had burst into his chambers and told him his wife's childbirth pains had begun, but he still did not know if he had another daughter or a son. Robb was shocked Vitoria's labor was so hard, for her pregnancy had been relatively easy. Whenever Robb was in their rooms he could feel the tension. Everyone was thinking what no one would say: Vitoria might die in labor. No one had told him that there was a chance he would have to chose between Vitoria's life and their child's, but he knew that if Vitoria didn't deliver in the next few hours it was very likely. He didn't know how to choose. How did one decide whether to save your child or the woman you love?_

_Robb's doors burst open and a breathless messenger appeared. "Princess Vitoria…"_

_Robb stood at the boy's words. What was wrong with Vitoria? Robb stormed past the boy and ran to Vitoria's chambers, ignoring the curious looks of the visiting bannermen and servants he passed. Robb's mind suggested everything that could have happened to Vitoria. _

_Vitoria could have given birth to a stillborn. Vitoria could be sick. The baby could be ill or dying. _

_Countess possibilities swarmed his head, but one was so bad he felt physical pain. Vitoria could be dying or already dead. Robb made the decision then, that he would choose Vitoria. He would save Vitoria._

_Robb burst thought the doors and looked at all the faces in the room. They all shared the same expression of joy and relief. Robb stalked over to Maester Vaith. "What happened? Is Vitoria alright?"_

_"Princess Vitoria is well and your…" He was cut off by a baby crying. Robb looked up at the sound._

_"Is that…?" Robb couldn't find the words to ask. Maester Vaith had said Vitoria was well. Did that mean their baby was also healthy?_

_"Yes, that is your healthy son."_

_"A son?" Robb whispered. Maester Vaith only nodded. Robb couldn't believe it. He and Vitoria finally had their son. "Can I see them?"_

_"Princess Vitoria is very tired and will need much rest."_

_"She's well you said."_

_"She shows no signs of sickness and her spirit seems strong, but she will need time to recover. The birth was hard and I had to stitch her opening back together, due to the harsh entrance of your son into the world. The babe was not positioned correctly, so she lost a lot of blood during the delivery and will need time to allow her body replenish it and recover her energy."_

_"I wish to see her." Robb knew what Maester Vaith was telling him, but minutes ago he had thought Vitoria may have died and he wouldn't leave until he saw with his own eyes Vitoria was alive and well._

_"Yes, milord." _

_Robb walked into the birthing chambers. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. There was blood everywhere. Lexa, Rena and Luna were all wearing bloodied gowns and sporting dark bags under their eyes. But he only had eyes for Vitoria. _

_She was in her bed, clearly too tired to be moved or even changed, since she was still wearing her nightgown — which was streaked with more red than he was comfortable with. Her hair was wildly spread against her pillow and her skin looked terrifyingly pale, having gone from her usual bronzed glow to nearly alabaster. It was obvious she was exhausted from labor, but she still looked content. Robb walked over to her and sat by her side._

_"Vi?" Robb whispered. Vitoria's eyes fluttered open._

_"Our boy," she murmured with a weak smile. Robb smiled at her and laughed softly, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to it._

_"Our boy," he repeated smiling._

_"Artos."_

_"Artos?"_

_"Like your ancestor, who defeated the wildings. He looks like a true Stark," Vitoria whispered, looking towards her ladies. Robb followed her gaze. He looked back at Vitoria before approaching her ladies._

_"My lord," they all muttered together. All curtsied except Rena. She was holding his son._

_"Give him to me," Rena walked over and placed his little boy in his arms, though calling him little might be a stretch since he was almost twice the size the twins had been as newborns. Robb cradled his son. Artos smiled at him with his grey eyes half-closed. Robb was captivated. Vitoria was right, their son looked just like a Stark with the traditional long face, dark hair and pale skin. Robb tore his gaze away from Artos' face to look into Vitoria's eyes, the expressions of both parents gleaming with happiness._

Angrily, Robb brushed away everything in his path, destroying his tent and make-shift office in the process. He felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks as he collapsed onto his knees, hugging himself.

She wasn't supposed to have died. His children were supposed to be alive. He should be holding her in his arms, feeling the kicks of their child as it grew inside her womb.

In a few weeks, they would have welcomed their newest child. He would have been there, he was sure. No matter what the maesters or the midwives said, he would have been there next to her, supporting her as she fought the battle to birth their babe.

* * *

Emmett turned around to move towards the camp when suddenly he found himself being disarmed and tackled to the ground; the small clearing was surrounded by soldiers. Lexa looked around concerned, she couldn't see anything that told them who had caught them and she feared that it was the Lannister army; she crouched down in front of Vitoria trying to block her from sight, while taking her dagger onto her hand in case it was needed.

Vitoria held her breath, fear consuming her that this would be her end; they were surrounded by an army and there was no telling who they had just stumbled upon. There was only one army that would see them safe and Vitoria prayed that this was that army, her eyes swept the line until she started to spot faces that she recognized.

"Send word to the King," Greatjon Umber ordered recognizing the woman instantly, he almost couldn't believe that she was here and this would certainly change the tide around their camp. They had all believed that Queen Vitoria had been murdered when Theon had taken Winterfell, her children slaughtered with her. And, yet, here she was before them now, clearly pregnant and with four small children huddled close to her.

Vitoria gasped as another pain shot up her body. She gritted her teeth and hoped that this was going to be okay; she looked to Lexa who was starting to relax. Emmett was allowed back to his feet and it was clear that their journey was now at an end. They had made it to the Northern Camp.

"Let's get them back to camp," Greatjon Umber ordered, seeing the clear discomfort his Queen was in. With her pregnancy so far advanced, even he as a man of war knew that she needed rest.

Just as they entered camp, everything seemed to change as for the first time in several months Robb saw his wife.


End file.
